


The Corners Of My Mind

by MelanieR



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23454019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieR/pseuds/MelanieR
Summary: Set after Leader of the Pack episode. Something is going on with Richie. Duncan and Joe realize they will need professional help to solve the problem.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Corners Of My Mind

Would it never stop raining? He was tired of the never-ending dampness. Tired of wet boots, of the mold that wanted to grow everywhere-making him sneeze first thing in the morning-of bread that went bad almost as soon as you bought it...tired. 

So tired.

Richie pulled his motorcycle into its customary spot beside the stairs to the dojo and attempted to put down the kickstand. It took three tries before it locked in place, allowing him to take the weight of the bike off his legs. He swung his right leg over the 600 pounds of cold steel with an effort, then pulled off his helmet, carrying it under one arm as he ascended the stairs. His feet felt like they were weighted down, the steps that he normally took two at a time a nearly insurmountable obstacle standing between him and the entrance to the building.

He made it to the top without stopping, though his deathgrip on the banister played a major role in that little accomplishment. A deep breath to steady himself, and he moved away into open ground. He pushed ineffectually against the outer door, mentally smacked himself, and pulled it open as he had a hundred times before. "Get a grip, Ryan," he muttered, shaking a few clinging raindrops from his hair and nearly falling before he caught himself, the hallway spinning for long moments.

Half a dozen strides and the dojo door loomed before him. He felt Duncan before he saw him, that sensation that was oh-so-familiar to him now, as if it had always been there when, during his first months of immortality, he had wondered if he would ever get used to it.

The Scot was having a quiet discussion with one of their Monday morning regulars, but had one eye on the door, letting Richie know his presence had not gone undetected. The dark-haired Immortal shot him a welcoming smile. One that, Richie noted, quickly changed to a frown. He said something else to the man beside him, then moved to intercept the young redhead. "Hey, Mac."

"Richie! What happened?"

"What happened?" the young Immortal repeated dully. "When?"

His eyes followed Duncan's line of vision and he looked down at himself wearily, feeling only mild shock at what he found. Dried blood covered his lower shirtfront and the top of his jeans. The rest of the denim was mud-soaked and there were several tears in the heavy material. Likewise, the left shoulder of his cotton t-shirt was hanging by a few threads. 

Richie continued to stare at the condition of his clothing, as if seeing it for the first time. "Oh, man, not again."

"Not again? What do you mean, 'not again'?"

"Nothing. I don't mean anything. Listen, I'm gonna hit the showers and change before I get to work," Richie muttered, already turning away.

"Never mind work, Rich. You look like you haven't slept in days. What have you been doing since Friday? Is it another Immortal?" Duncan asked, voice lowered against any eavesdroppers.

"No...I don't know. I don't think so, anyway," the redhead answered ambiguously.

"You don't *think* so? Richie, come upstairs. I think we need to talk," Duncan said, using his larger frame to block Richie from the view of any curious onlookers.

The young Immortal let himself be led to the elevator. He moved away from the other man then, but leaned heavily against the wall of the lift for support.

"So what happened?" the Scot asked after they reached the loft, following close behind as Richie made his way to the couch and dropped down upon it.

"I guess I had an accident, or something," Richie answered listlessly.

"You *guess*? Don't you remember?"

"No," the red-haired Immortal admitted. "Maybe I hit my head."

Duncan's expressive face was growing darker by the minute. "Richie—"

"Look, it's no big deal. I mean, I've still *got* my head, right?" the younger man quipped, trying to lighten the mood. "All I know is my clothes looked fine when I crashed on the couch last night."

"Where did you wake up this morning?"

"Same place I went to sleep-on the couch."

"And?" Duncan prompted when Richie fell silent.

"And I spotted the clock, saw that I had overslept, grabbed my keys and ran out. I didn't stop to change. I figured I could grab a change of clothes after I opened the dojo. Sorry I was late."

Duncan brushed that off with a brisk wave of his hand. "That's not important, Rich." He noted the dark circles under the young man's eyes with a fierce frown. "I think maybe you'd better take the day off and catch up on some sleep."

"No, Mac, come on. I think I'm getting too much sleep or something. Besides, I'll be good as new after a couple quarts of coffee and three or four jelly donuts." His smile was only a shadow of its normal self.

"You're sure? You look like twenty miles of bad road to me." 

The redhead snorted at that. "Thanks, Mac. I love you, too." He rolled his eyes as the Highlander continued to hover over him, seemingly determined to play mother hen. "Yes, I'm sure, okay? Listen, can we just drop this? Those invoices aren't going to pay themselves, you know?"

"Okay, go, but use my shower. I don't want to have to explain your appearance to anyone downstairs. Get washed up and into some clean clothes. You know where my razor is."

"Yeah. Thanks, Mac." The redhead dragged himself off the couch and plodded heavily towards the bathroom without another word.

Duncan watched him out of sight, then turned toward the stairs. If something was bothering Richie, he was sure the young Immortal would talk to him about it sooner or later...he usually did, and there was no reason to think this time would be any different.

Two days later he was ready to revise his assessment of the situation. Richie had taken great care to show up at work on time every day, and in clean, if wrinkled, clothing. He chattered incessantly about anything and everything, except why he was nearly asleep on his feet. Any time Duncan tried to broach the subject, he received clipped, evasive replies that told him absolutely nothing, or an overly-chipper "Nothing's, wrong, Mac. You worry too much," that made him want to shake his young student till his teeth rattled. 

If it weren't for the gaunt, haunted look on Richie's face he might have let it go, but that look had started to invade his dreams, and now he was losing sleep, as well.

Duncan tried to convince himself that it was that, and not his growing concern for the redhead's welfare, that drove him to show up at Richie's apartment at the crack of dawn that Thursday morning. He didn't bother to knock, opting for the key Richie had given him for emergencies, instead. Not finding the young Immortal inside was an unwelcome surprise and Duncan settled in on the couch to await his return with a expressionless face that belied the anger bubbling just below the surface. If the kid was just out running around every night having a good time, he was going to kill him.

It was nearly 5:30 a.m. when he sensed an approaching Immortal, and he braced himself to give the young man hell. The sight that met his eyes, when Richie pushed open the apartment door with sword drawn, stole the words from his mouth. 

The young redhead locked gazes with him, sighed in obvious relief at seeing a familiar face, and lowered his swordarm. He stumbled into the apartment, heading for the bathroom without questioning the other Immortal's presence. 

Duncan's anger may have fled but his curiosity had not, and he caught Richie as he passed, swinging him around by one arm. He found his own arms full a moment later as Richie slumped bonelessly against him.

Duncan quickly lowered him onto the couch then hurried to the bathroom, returning with a cold compress which he placed on Richie's forehead, and perched on the edge of the cushions beside him. Waiting for the young man to revive, he took the opportunity to inventory his friend's condition. 

Once again, Richie's jeans were bloody and torn, and smears of dirt and dried blood on his face gave evidence of already-healed scratches there. What startled the Scot most was the fact that the redhead was shirtless and barefoot, his feet only now healing from assorted cuts and bruises.

Richie moaned as he drifted back toward consciousness, muttered something indistinguishable, then started violently as he sensed the other man.

The larger Immortal grabbed him by the shoulders as he tried to leap up, easing him back with murmured reassurances. "It's okay, Rich. It's Mac. It's all right."

Richie blinked owlishly up into his face, then sank back down into the cushions, releasing a harsh breath and closing his eyes once more.

Duncan retrieved the washcloth that had been displaced by the young man's sudden move and ran it across Richie's face, wiping away the residue of caked blood, frowning at the dark shadows that framed normally-bright blue eyes.

Those eyes regarded him wearily now, one hand reaching for the cloth. "I'll do that," Richie mumbled, relieving him of it, but he did no more than swipe at one cheek before dropping his arm down upon his chest in defeat. "I'll take a shower...later." He seemed to really take notice of the other man for the first time since entering the apartment, and struggled to a sitting position. "What are you doing here, Mac? What time is it?"

"Don't you know?" Duncan asked inscrutably, drawing a frown from the younger man.

"If I knew I wouldn't ask," he grumbled.

"It's nearly six a.m. Where have you been, Richie? Didn't you get any sleep last night at all?" 

The Highlander didn't sound pleased, that much penetrated the redhead's sleep-deprived brain. "Sure I got some sleep," he said defensively. "I even went to bed early."

"Well, you weren't in bed when I got here," Duncan announced. "What happened to you?"

Richie looked down at himself and bit back a groan. "If this keeps up I'm not going to have any clothes left," he said, with no trace of humor.

"Richie, I want you to tell me what happened," Duncan repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

The young Immortal mustered a frown. "I don't know, okay?"

"You don't know?" Duncan repeated dully.

"I don't remember leaving the apartment," Richie clarified. "I came home, ate a little dinner, drank a few beers and went to bed. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, cold and wet, and I don't know how I got there."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Maybe," Richie hedged, causing Duncan's scowl to deepen. "Once or twice in the past week," he added, seeing that the Scot wasn't about to let it go at that.

"And each time you didn't remember anything?"

"Yeah. Man, I've got the mother of all headaches," Richie groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position. "I need an aspirin the size of New York."

"Richie, you can't keep going like this. You're obviously not sleeping and I don't like the fact that you're losing periods of time."

"I'm not too crazy about it, either, but, other than trashing my wardrobe, it's no big deal. I'm still in one piece anyway." He tried for a smile, coming up with something that resembled a grimace instead.

"I want you to stay at the loft for a while, Richie," Duncan proclaimed, ignoring the younger man's attempt at humor.

"No, way. I don't need a babysitter, Mac." 

The Scot swore under his breath at the mutinous expression on Richie's face and grabbed the young man's left arm, turning it to display a long streak of deep red along the underside. "This is blood, Richie. You've obviously been hurt badly and it's not the first time, or the second...or even third, from what you've said."

Richie tried to turn his head away but Duncan grasped his chin and held it firmly. "If you were having trouble with another Immortal, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Mac, come on...yes, I'd tell you," he assured him, pulling his face free from the grip. "As far as I know, the last Immortal that was in town was that guy Kanus. You said you took care of him."

"I did."

"Well, it's hard to make a mistake about a thing like that. Besides, we don't even know that all this is linked to one of us. I could have gotten banged up like this from dumping my bike."

"Even if you were crazy enough to go riding without a shirt or shoes-which I don't believe-you didn't do that tonight; I saw your motorcycle outside when I pulled up. And that wouldn't explain the other incidences," Duncan reasoned.

Richie shook his head and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "I'm too tired to work it out now. I've got a couple hours before I have to be at work," he said, glancing at the clock on the far wall. "I think I'll take a hot shower and try to catch a few winks."

"That sounds like a good idea, Rich, but you've got more than a couple hours. I can handle the dojo myself until this afternoon." Richie opened his mouth to argue, but Duncan caught him off. "Come in this afternoon, Richie," he said forcefully. "If I see you there before lunch I'll toss you out on your—"

"Okay, okay. I'll see you after lunch," Richie cried, hands up in surrender and a wry smile on his otherwise cheerless face.

Duncan returned the small smile and stood, offering the younger man a hand up. 

Richie accepted it gratefully, holding on until he found his legs. "Thanks, Mac. I'll catch ya later," he said simply, and moved slowly toward the bathroom, swaying slightly as he went.

Duncan watched him out of sight before turning away. He headed back to his place long enough to grab a quick breakfast and put the 'closed' sign on the door with a small additional note reading 'til noon' tacked on below it. His next stop was Joe's.

It was time to find some answers.

This early on a weekday the bar's parking lot was empty; something the Highlander had counted on-no cars outside, meant no customers inside. What he had to say to a certain Watcher wasn't for the ears of strangers.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly-lit interior after leaving the early morning sunshine outside, but he spotted movement across the room almost immediately.

"Hey, MacLeod!" Joe called out in greeting from behind the bar, lifting another fresh bottle of gin from a crate at his side. "It's a little early for a drink, isn't it?"

"A little," he admitted, sliding onto one of the bar stools and folding his arms in front of him. He got right to the point. "I need some information, Joe. If you can't give it because it means breaking a confidence, or something along those lines, I'll understand."

He had the mortal's full attention now. "Okay, shoot."

Duncan tapped the bar top absently for a moment. "I'm not sure how to say this, but has Richie said anything to you lately about something that might be worrying him? Another Immortal...money problems...anything?"

"He hasn't said a word to me. Hasn't even come by for over a week. Why, is the kid in some kind of trouble?"

"I wish I knew, Joe," Duncan confided, running a hand across his forehead. "Maybe I'm overreacting-being the mother hen that Richie accuses me of sometimes."

Joe gave a small shake of his head and lowered himself carefully onto the adjacent stool. "I know you, MacLeod. You don't overreact, and you didn't come here on a whim. The kid's got you spooked. Did you come right out and ask him what's going on?"

"I've tried, but he's barely said a dozen words to me this week. He comes in, works with the books, handles whatever needs handling in the dojo, and goes home."

"Richie hasn't been talking?" Joe said, eyebrows arched. "Now I know something's wrong."

The Watcher's attempt at levity raised only the barest of grins from the worried Immortal. "That's not all of it, Joe. I went to his place early this morning and he wasn't there. He showed up looking like he'd been in a fight, but he didn't remember any of it."

"Maybe he just didn't want to tell you what happened," Joe suggested.

"No. I could see it in his face. He wasn't lying, he was scared, and so tired he could barely see straight. It's a wonder he made it home." The Scot knocked on the bar with his knuckles in frustration, then eyed Dawson closely. "How much do you know about Richie's Watcher?"

Joe leaned heavily on the bar top, taking some of the weight off his prostheses. "All I need to know. He's a good man, MacLeod. He's been in the organization for nearly fourteen years-in my division for eight. 'Course he's only been on Richie for the last five months or so, just since the kid got back from France."

"Would he talk to you about what might be going on?"

"You want me to find out if he's seen Richie with another Immortal?"

"I want you to find out if he's seen anything that might explain why Richie goes to bed every night and wakes up looking like the walking dead the next day. I wouldn't ask, Joe, but—"

The Watcher raised one hand to forestall him. "You don't have to explain. I'm worried about the kid, too, from what you've said-it must be something serious if he's so close-mouthed about it. Usually, if there's something he feels he can't talk to you about, he comes to me."

"I know, and I'm glad you're here for him, Joe. It's hard for me to remember what it's like to be his age and just starting out."

"Hey, it wasn't yesterday for me, either, but I think I know where the kid is coming from. He just wants to do the right thing and sometimes he's not sure what that is. And, sometimes, he's just worried about you."

Duncan's head came up at that. "Why would Richie be worried about me?"

"Beats me, Mac. Maybe for the same reason you're worried about him," the Watcher retorted with a knowing smile.

"Okay, Joe," Duncan replied, with a small smile of his own. He rose, resting both hands on the bar. "You'll let me know if you find out anything."

"Count on it."

The Scot nodded and turned away toward the door feeling better than he had in days. Now the ball was in Joe's court.

Joe was on the phone to Richie's Watcher within the hour, leaving a message asking the other man to drop by for a drink. Of course 'asking' was merely a courtesy: as the head of his division, Joe could call in any one of the operatives in his region, at any time, and they knew it.

Most of the lunch crowd had come and gone by the time Cal Simms arrived just after two p.m.

"Hey, Cal. Thanks for coming," Joe said, ushering the other man to the now-empty bar and signaling to the lead waitress that he didn't want to be disturbed.

"You said it was important, Joe," Simms replied, draping his trenchcoat casually across the seat to his left and climbing onto the end stool, where he leaned on the bar and sat rubbing at one temple.

Joe took in the fair-haired Watcher's bloodshot eyes and slumped shoulders with a vague sense of uneasiness. "Long night?"

"Yeah," Cal muttered, running a hand across his eyes before focusing his attention on the elder Watcher. "What can I do for you, Joe?"

"This isn't official, Cal. I just want to ask you a few questions about your current assignment." He tossed a handful of ice into a glass and poured a healthy amount of Scotch into it, then slid it across the counter.

"Ryan? My reports are pretty up-to-date on him," Simms said evenly, though he failed to hold the other man's gaze. "Is there something in particular you wanted to know?" His hand curled around the glass and he raised it, taking an appreciative swallow.

"Well...I have reason to believe the kid may be in some kind of trouble, I just don't know what that trouble entails. I thought maybe you could fill in some of the blanks for me." Simms' eyes returned to his then drifted back to his drink. "This is off the record, Cal," Joe assured him. "I have my reasons for asking or I wouldn't put you on the spot like this."

"Off the record, huh?"

"You've got my word on it."

Simms gave a small, tight smile and took another drink from his glass. "That's good enough for me, Joe. What do you need?"

"Another source I have reported that Ryan's been behaving strangely lately, even for an Immortal. Coming and going at odd hours, sometimes covered in blood. Now, from what I've found on the database, there haven't been any new Immortals in town for weeks, and your reports don't mention any fights for Ryan lately- with mortals *or* Immortals." 

Cal gave a heavy sigh, hesitating fractionally before saying, "I can explain that."

"I was hoping you could."

"Maybe I'd better rephrase that. I can explain *what* he's been doing, but not why. I'd like the answer to that one myself."

"You wanna run that by me again?"

"It's a little complicated," he hedged, taking a long swig of his drink. "Your source was right; the kid's been acting strange, not like himself at all. I think I might have missed the first couple times it happened-these early morning excursions of his, that is. Usually when Ryan turns in for the night that's the end of it. I hang around for another hour maybe, then head home. The first time I realized something wasn't right was a week ago Sunday. I showed up a little earlier than usual and nearly bumped into the kid. He was walking fast through the alley behind his apartment building with his head down. It was pretty obvious that he was trying to be inconspicuous-which was almost funny considering all he had on was a pair of boxers."

"That's it?"

"That's it...and a lot of dried blood. I ducked back out of sight and watched him sneak in through the back door. I didn't spot him again until after lunch. His routine after that was pretty normal...until that night."

"Oh?"'

"Yeah. Well, I was curious, you know? So I stuck around after his lights went out. I was about to hang it up and go home when he comes strolling out of the building just as neat as you please and heads off down the street-fully clothed this time. He was moving at a pretty good clip, too. I had to really hustle to keep up with him."

"So what did he do?"

"Well, it was pretty obvious after a mile or two that he was headed for the bay, so I took a few shortcuts to get ahead of him and find a good vantage point. Sure enough, a couple minutes later he shows up. Now I figure he's meeting someone there. I mean, why else take off in the middle of the night, right? Only he doesn't look around or even slow down, he just heads right for the bulkhead, climbs up on the edge, and jumps in. No please or thank you, he just disappears over the side like it was the most natural thing in the world to go swimming in forty degree water at 3 a.m."

"Did you stick around after that?" Joe asked, fighting to maintain his position of apathetic observer.

"Yeah, of course. I raced over to the edge trying to catch a glimpse of him, but it was about thirty feet down and dark as pitch. He wasn't splashing around though, that I would have heard. I used my little pocket flashlight to scan the surface for him, but nothing. After a good thirty minutes of searching the waterline, I thought I was going to have to close the kid's file after all-what with the currents pulling toward the shipping lanes. Then I hear someone swearing a blue streak down by the breakwater. I hunkered down in the bushes and after a little while Ryan comes limping by me. He must have been frozen solid; the wind was really gusting that night- it was bad enough standing there bone-dry, like I was." Simms paused in his storytelling to take another drink. "After that it was pretty much a repeat of the night before; he snuck into his apartment building and didn't come out again until morning. I know, I stuck around all night to make sure."

"So why not put that in your reports? Why all the mystery?"

"I was going to write it up, Joe, but it sounded crazy, even to me. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't missing something that might have explained it all...so I waited. It wasn't until a couple nights ago that I think I figured out at least part of it."

"Go on," Joe urged.

"Okay, it started out like the others. Lights out, I wait, the kid makes a late-night appearance. Only this time he doesn't go far, just stands on the corner outside his building like he's expecting someone. Only I know he isn't, so I stay put. After about ten minutes this car turns onto the street and starts his way. I never saw anything like it, Joe. The kid didn't move a muscle until the car was almost up to him, then he steps out in front of it, fast. The driver slammed on the brakes, but he couldn't stop in time. I never saw anybody get hit by a car before, and I hope I never do again," Simms said heavily, hands clenched in front of him. "I thought after all the beheadings I've seen over the years that nothing would ever affect me like that again. I was wrong."

"You said you figured something out," Joe prompted, and briefly laid a comforting hand on the other man's arm.

"Yeah. I, uh, I got a good look at his face when the headlights hit him," Cal continued, pulling his thoughts together. "His eyes were...well, empty. He looked right through me like I wasn't even there." He stopped again, locking gazes with his senior. "I've seen that look before, Joe. I had a cousin who had somnambulism when we were kids-scared the crap out of me on a camp-out once."

"You think Richie's sleepwalking? Is that really a possibility?"

"Hell, I don't know, but if he doesn't snap out of it soon somebody's going to find out what he is."

"What about the driver? Did he see how badly Ryan was hurt?"

"The driver?" Cal echoed with a harsh laugh. "The guy didn't even stop. He peeled out of there so fast he was burning rubber. It turned out to be a blessing, though; at that hour of the morning the streets were deserted. It wasn't too difficult to get him inside out of view so he could heal without an audience. That was out of line, I know, but..." Simms looked contrite for only a moment, then knocked back the rest of his drink and gazed up at the other man. "I'm only telling you this because we're old friends, Joe. If this shows up on my file I could lose my position, or at least be pulled from this assignment."

"Don't worry, Cal. Like I said, it doesn't go beyond this room. But, in the future, you might want to be careful about getting involved with your Immortal. It can be habit-forming." Joe grimaced inside at the hypocrisy of his advice. This was quickly becoming one of those dreaded 'do as I say, not as I do' scenarios; luckily Cal didn't know that side of it.

Simms nodded, accepting the advice at face value, and pushed his empty glass across the bar. "Thanks for the drink. I hope I filled in some of the blanks." He got to his feet and draped his trenchcoat across one arm as he turned toward the door.

"One more thing," Joe said, and Simms turned back to face him. "Why risk it? Why with this Immortal?" he asked, pitching his voice low, mindful of a few stragglers sitting across the room.

Cal shrugged and broke out in a wry smile. "I like the kid. And he's so damn young, Joe. He's just a babe in arms compared to the rest of them. I just want him to have a chance, you know?"

"I hear ya."

Simms gave a rather lethargic wave and headed out.

Joe stood lost in thought for several minutes, then gave the bartender the heads up. "I'm going out for a while, Dave. Keep an eye on things." He was moving towards his office and the rear exit before the other man had a chance to do more than nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan gave up on his half-hearted attempt to clean the loft at the sound of the elevator rising behind him, its gears moaning and squealing their dissatisfaction with their job.

His stomach clenched when he saw Joe behind the grating and took in the grim look on the Watcher's face. Although his mind told him to step forward and lift the gate for the other man, his feet seemed rooted in place and he watched as Joe handled the chore himself.

"I thought I'd come to you this time," the silver-haired man said by way of greeting. "I saw Richie downstairs-the kid looks like he's on his last leg."

Duncan nodded and sat down heavily on the arm of the couch, legs straddling it. He waited for Joe to settle himself in the nearest chair, then plunged in. "Did you speak to Richie's Watcher?"

"I did, and he had some pretty interesting things to say."

"Such as?"

"Well, for starters, Richie's problem isn't another Immortal."

"He's sure?" Duncan asked, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed by the news. At least another Immortal was a tangible adversary, and one the Scot was familiar with.

"He hasn't let the kid out of his sight much the past week. If there was another Immortal dogging Richie, he would have seen some trace of him. Besides, from what he told me, none of Richie's injuries resulted from a fight."

"What exactly *did* he tell you, Joe?"

"Get a hold of yourself, MacLeod...the kid's been a busy little bee. Seems his new pastimes include early morning swims in the Sound and leaping in front of moving vehicles."

"What?" Duncan droned, staring at the other man as if he'd lost touch with reality. "Why would he do that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. You don't think Richie's got Immortals and super-heroes mixed up, do you?"

His attempt at a quip had Duncan scowling. "Tell me what he said."

"He said he noticed Richie coming in early one morning, inadequately dressed and bloody. He played on a hunch, stuck around the next night, and caught the kid leaving the building after light's out. He followed and watched Richie try to drown himself- or at least that's how he read it. Since that night, he's seen a number of what I would describe as attempted suicides...or they would be, if Richie weren't an Immortal."

"He also admitted that he'd intervened a few times," Joe added reluctantly.

"Intervened?" Duncan asked suspiciously.

"Moved the body out of sight," Joe expounded. MacLeod's raised eyebrows had him adding acerbically, "Hey, what can I say? It probably happens more than anyone wants to admit. After all, if an Immortal dies in public he has to relocate, which means either you give up that assignment or relocate with him. Some Watchers actually have families, MacLeod. Picking up and moving half-way around the world is a little more than an inconvenience for some of us," he said defensively.

"Point made."

Joe grunted his acceptance of that. "Then too, some of us grow attached to our assignments and just want to spare them the consequences of dying in the open. I've seen it before, especially with older Watchers and young ones, like Richie. They feel a little protective—wanna give the kids a chance to make it."

"I suppose I should be grateful to him. Richie doesn't need another public death so soon-and not here in Seacouver. It would be pretty hard on him to have to stay clear of his hometown for ten or twenty years. But this doesn't make any sense, Joe. Why would Richie intentionally step in front of a car, or jump in the bay? I've known him since he was seventeen and he's never been what I'd call 'self-destructive'. Reckless, yes, but he doesn't go out of his way to get hurt."

"If it makes you feel any better, I agree with you," Joe said.

Duncan sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You know, I honestly don't think Richie's even aware of what he's doing."

"What? Like he's sleepwalking? That's his Watcher's theory."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Well, if he is suddenly sleepwalking, there's something behind it. He still hasn't said anything to you?"

"No, but I didn't push him today. I wanted to wait until I had more to go on."

"So now what?" Joe asked at length, surreptitiously watching the Scot's face while trying to downplay his own apprehension.

"Now I stake out his place and follow him if he leaves. We may know what's been happening to Richie, but we don't know why, and I intend to find out."

"Want some company?" The Scot seemed surprised, spurring Joe to add, "hey, you're watching Richie, I'm watching you. I'll give Cal the night off and watch you both. I'm sure after all this stuff with the kid he'll be glad for a good night's sleep."

Duncan opened his mouth to protest, but the younger man cut him off. "I know you don't *need* my help, but I'd like to be a part of this, if you'll let me."

The plea was given with such candor that the Highlander felt small for even contemplating leaving the Watcher out. His help had already proved invaluable, and it well might again. Duncan gave him a small, weary smile. "Thanks, Joseph."

"De nada. Don't forget, MacLeod, Richie means a lot to me, too."

"I know, and I'm glad you've never let any disagreements we've had in the past keep you from being there for him."

"I wouldn't do that, Mac. My friendship with Richie doesn't have anything to do with you and me. I'm not sure it ever did."

Duncan smiled warmly at the Watcher for that, grateful to know that Richie had a stalwart friend in the silver-haired bar owner, one that wouldn't turn away from him when the going got rough.

"What time did Richie's Watcher say these excursions of Richie's took place?" the Scot asked. 

"It sounded like they were all in the wee hours of the morning. Why don't I meet you here at midnight and we can drive over to his place together?"

"If you're sure you want to do this..."

"I'm sure," Joe assured him, climbing awkwardly to his feet while Duncan did the same with a grace he silently envied.

"All right, Joe, I'll see you tonight." The Immortal walked beside him to the elevator.

Joe stepped inside, then turned to face him again as he lowered the gate. "Don't worry, MacLeod, we'll figure this thing out."

The Highlander watched him out of sight, then "I hope so," he murmured to the now-empty room.

~~~~~~~~~

Joe was prompt, as always, and the pair left the dojo parking lot just past midnight. They pulled into the street behind Richie's apartment building ten minutes later and made their way to the building's dingy atrium, Duncan matching his stride to that of his companion.

"You take the elevator, Joe, I'll take the stairs. That'll put us at opposite ends of Richie's hallway-he won't be able to leave without one of us seeing him."

"Good idea," the Watcher agreed. He moved off, his cane tapping out a tattoo on the tiled floor.

Duncan waited until Joe was on his way up before making his way to the stairwell and starting the climb. Reaching Richie's floor, he stepped into the hall, spotting Joe almost immediately. He moved to the far end of the hall as Joe stepped back out of sight, each preparing to spend what might be a long, wakeful night alone.

Less than two hours later, Duncan sensed an approaching Immortal and rose from his crouch, alerting Joe of movement a moment before Richie's door opened and the young Immortal stepped into view. 

Wearing worn, faded jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt, the redhead moved resolutely for the stairwell, looking to neither side, but staring straight ahead as he went. One hand reached out and turned the knob and he pulled the door open, stepping inside and letting it drift shut behind him.

Duncan hastened from his post, following in Richie's footsteps, scarcely registering the tapping of Joe's cane as he joined him. They gave each other the barest of glances, then Duncan ducked his head into the stairwell briefly, pulling back to hiss at the Watcher. "He's going up."

"Up? Why would he go up?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to follow. Stay here, I'll pick you up on the way down if he changes direction."

Joe nodded, and Duncan took off on cat-like feet, his long legs allowing him to take the stairs two and three at a time. He hung back enough to keep Richie from sensing him, but not so far that he couldn't hear the younger man's footsteps on the stairs above. He expected the redhead to exit at one of the two habitable floors above his, but Richie continued upward until he reached the roof, the heavy metal door groaning loudly on rust-coated hinges as he pulled it open.

Duncan reached it before it clanged shut, peering around the edge, his eyes scanning the dark for any sign of his student and friend. Motion near the far end of the roof caught his eye and he moved cautiously in that direction, leery of tipping Richie off until he knew his agenda for the evening. He could just make out the bejeaned form in the meager light from the street below, and cocked his head to the side as Richie climbed onto the outer ledge without hesitation. 

His mind accepted what he was seeing a split second too late to leap forward and grab the young Immortal before he stepped off the ledge into open space. He did race forward then, crying Richie's name as he did, grabbing the ledge with suddenly ice-cold hands as he gazed over and down.

Richie lay in a tangle of broken limbs in the alleyway below, his head in a pool of rapidly-spreading blood, the beam of the nearest streetlight catching him in its yellow glow.

Duncan turned and sprinted back to the stairs, no longer mindful of the noise he was making as he took them four at a time back to Richie's floor. He found Joe waiting where he had left him, and took a few precious moments to spit out "alley, left side of building," before ducking back inside and racing down the remaining flights. He found Richie's body undisturbed and quickly pulled him behind a dumpster, out of the streetlamp's beam. A few minutes later he heard a loudly whispered "MacLeod" and leaned out of their hidey-hole to wave Joe forward.

The Watcher maneuvered gingerly through the debris in the alley, stopping in front of Duncan and the young man cradled in his lap. "Good God, MacLeod, what happened to him?" he asked, staring aghast at Richie's condition.

"He jumped," was the carefully composed reply.

"Jumped? You mean fell."

"No, Joe, he jumped. Deliberately. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. He just jumped," Duncan repeated, one hand resting gently against Richie's forehead, the other arm wrapped protectively around the young man's chest. "You might as well go home," he said at length. "I'll stay with him till he revives and make sure he's all right. I'll probably spend the night here, just to be sure."

Joe thought about arguing, but the strained look on the Scot's face changed his mind. "Okay, Mac. I'll call in the morning and see how you're both doing." A nod from the Highlander and he started his trek back to the car, leaving the Immortal to his silent vigil.

After another fifteen interminable minutes of waiting, Duncan felt the first stirrings of Immortal presence. Moments later, Richie gasped loudly and struggled for that first clean breath, lungs straining to fill once more. His eyes flew open, his expression one of momentary panic, the dark blue of his eyes a deep onyx in the dim light. Duncan tightened his grip as Richie instinctively struggled against the arms that held him immobile.

"Richie, stop. It's me. It's Duncan."

"Mac?" the young man breathed, stilling instantly. He coughed raggedly then, small droplets of blood spraying from his lips as his throat fought to clear itself. "Wh...where are we? What happened?"

Duncan released his grip on the young Immortal and helped him to a sitting position, keeping one hand on his arm for his own peace of mind as much as Richie's. "You had a little accident," the Scot related, with a calm he didn't feel.

Richie looked down at himself, then up at his surroundings; a deep shudder ran though him. "Yeah, an accident," he muttered weakly.

"Come on," Duncan urged, climbing to his feet and giving the redhead a hand up. "Let's get you back upstairs. Then you and I are going to talk."

Hearing the steel in his teacher's voice, Richie looked up, swallowing hard. "Yeah, talk," he said unhappily. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other after that, Duncan's hand at his left elbow to steady him as they made the return trip to his apartment. Once inside, Richie slumped down onto the couch and ran a hand back through his hair, grimacing at the sticky blood matting the short red curls.

"Okay, Rich, it's time for you to tell me what's going on," Duncan declared, taking up a rigid stance directly in front of him.

Richie shrugged, that small movement nearly taxing what remained of his strength. "What's to tell? I don't know what's going on, Mac. I wish I did, but—"

"I believe you."

"What?" Richie squeaked, mouth dropping open in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes, I do," Duncan replied with a wry smile, abandoning his austere posture.

Richie tilted his head to the side, regarding the older man suspiciously. "Why? Even I don't believe me," he admitted; blue eyes grew wide as the realization hit him. "You know something, don't you?"

Duncan nodded, sitting down beside him and taking in the dried bloodstains on the couch's surface with a jaundiced eye. Richie was going to have to do some major reupholstering when this was all over. "I have a few things to tell you that you may not already know, but it can wait until morning. Why don't you turn in now, and we'll talk about it then?"

"No way, Mac," the young man said with grim determination, looking more himself than he had at any time during the week. "I want to know now. You don't understand how I feel...how I've been feeling. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than everything I've imagined."

"Maybe you're right," the Scot conceded. "Maybe getting everything out in the open right away is the best thing for all of us." He ran a hand across the back of his neck, massaging aching muscles. "All right, let's start at the beginning. After I saw the condition you were in when you came home yesterday, I decided to get some information from your Watcher."

"You went to my Watcher to talk about me?!" Richie demanded, horrified at the prospect.

Not surprised at the outburst, Duncan raised a hand to silence the irate young man. "Here me out, Rich. I know this sounds like a betrayal, but you may feel differently before I'm finished."

Richie glared at his teacher, then settled down with an audible huff and an unmistakable pout.

The Highlander smiled approvingly at the halted tantrum and returned to his explanation, covering everything up to, but not including, that night's foray into the alleyway below.

"My Watcher told you all that?" Richie muttered. The young Immortal's distress had grown exponentially as each detail of his evening exploits unfolded.

"Not me...Joe," Duncan admitted, finally relating that little undisclosed piece of information.

"Joe knows?" Richie asked, looking even less pleased at that bit of news.

"I had to tell him, Rich. I needed to know what was going on and I couldn't go to your Watcher myself."

"Yeah," Richie reluctantly agreed, falling into a temporary funk, hands balled into fists in his lap. "It's okay, Mac," he said, finally. "Joe's a friend. I guess I'm just a little embarrassed."

"You don't have any reason to be embarrassed, Richie," Duncan countered, sounding more stern than he intended. "Whatever the reason, you don't seem to have any control over this and we need to find out why."

"So you came here tonight to find out if it was true?" Richie deduced.

"Joe and I came to see for ourselves, yes."

Noting the absence of a certain Watcher the young Immortal commented, "I guess it freaked Joe out, huh?"

"No, Richie," Duncan said mildly. "I told Joe to go. He was interested, believe me."

"Well, it's no big deal now, anyway. If I'm sleepwalking, maybe it'll stop on its own."

"And maybe it won't," Duncan countered, bracing himself for an argument. "You can't keep going like this. You're too young to die night after night and not have it affect you. And just how much longer do you think you can function without an uninterrupted night's sleep? Look at yourself, your hands are shaking so badly you couldn't hold a sword steady if your life depended on it. And it does, Richie."

As predicted, Richie had opened his mouth to argue halfway through Duncan's analysis of his situation. He closed it again, reluctantly accepting the logic of it.

"Okay. Something's gotta give. I agree with you. But I don't know why I'm sleepwalking, Mac. How can I stop it if I don't know why I'm doing it?"

Duncan had been preparing for this moment since hearing Richie's Watcher's report. "I have an old friend in France. I'll call him in the morning and ask his advice on where to go with this."

"An *old* friend?" Richie asked, eyebrows raised.

"A *very* old friend."

"Why do I get the feeling everybody's going to know about this before it's over?" the young man muttered to no one in particular. He straightened then, regarding his friend and mentor with an open, trusting gaze. "Okay, Mac. If you think it's the right thing to do." A shaky hand came up to brush across his eyes and a slight tremor ran through him. 

The redhead was obviously fading fast, exhaustion taking its toll.

"Go to bed, Richie. I'll stay out here and make sure you don't take another walk tonight."

"I'm fine, Mac. You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't *have* to." He gave his young friend a fond smile. "Go to bed, Richie."

"Okay," Richie acquiesced, lacking the strength to argue further. "Thanks, Mac," he added timidly, climbing to unsteady feet.

"You'd do it for me," Duncan said with assurance, and smiled at the younger man as Richie stopped in front of him.

"Yeah," he said simply, a smile finally breaking through his haggard visage. "Night." He resumed his plodding pace toward his room.

Duncan watched the retreating form, resisting the urge to follow and tuck the youth in. "Sleep tight."

"From your lips to God's ears," he heard Richie mutter softly.

"I hope so, Rich. I hope so," the Scot murmured, adding his own heartfelt prayer as he stretched out on the couch, facing the open bedroom door. Sleep pulled at him and he gave in to it, knowing his warrior's skills would alert him to Richie's movements. Morning would come all too soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was well up, the clouds in the distance hinting at the possibility of a midmorning thunderstorm, when Richie finally dragged himself from beneath the sheets and fisted the sleep from his eyes. Smothering a yawn behind one hand, he threw the covers aside and swung his legs out of bed, climbing to his feet with a total lack of enthusiasm for the day ahead. A few strides across the bedroom and he knew MacLeod was still inside the apartment, the Immortal buzz dancing across his senses bringing him to full wakefulness.

"I don't need a babysitter," he muttered softly, secretly touched by the Highlander's interest in his well-being. He stopped long enough to grab a clean pair of jeans and pull them on, doing a one-legged hop to the door as his foot got caught in one pant leg.

As expected, Duncan was in the main room, a cup of steaming tea sitting on the coffee table, the daily paper clutched in his hands. 

He lowered it as Richie came into view, smiling up at the young man, who was sporting a bad case of 'bed head'. "Morning."

"Morning," Richie returned, squinting at the clock in the kitchen. "What time is it, anyway?"

"A little past ten," Duncan informed him. Taking another good look at his protege, he got to his feet and went directly to the refrigerator. Grabbing the orange juice, he filled a glass and handed it over. "Think you could eat something?"

"Yeah, a team of horses would be good."

The Scot grinned at that, glad to see that whatever was troubling the young Immortal obviously hadn't affected his appetite. "You'll have to settle for the Danish I picked up," he said, indicating the string-tied cardboard box with Black Forest Bakery in bright letters across the top.

"Danish? Really?" The redhead made a beeline for the box and tore into it.

"All your favorites. Try not to make yourself sick."

"Sure, Mac. Wann wun?" he mumbled around a mouthful, offering a fruit-filled pastry to the other man.

"No thanks. I ate earlier."

Richie swallowed hard, looking suddenly sheepish. "Why didn't you wake me? Man, I should have opened the dojo hours ago."

"Don't worry about that. I called Jason and asked him to hold down the fort today. You and I have an appointment to keep."

"An appointment? Where?"

"While you were getting your beauty sleep I called my friend in France."

"The shrink?" Richie muttered, feeling a sudden loss of appetite.

"Mm-hmm. He called a colleague of his in Everett and she's agreed to take you on as a patient. We have a one o'clock appointment at her Cicero Heights office here in town."

"The Heights? That sounds a little out of my range, Mac, maybe—"

"No charge, Rich. She's doing it as a favor to Sean."

"She?" Richie asked, brightening.

"Yes, she," Duncan said with a snort of amusement. "A Vanya Korsikov. Sean says she's one of the best."

"You trust this Sean guy?"

"With my life."

Well, there it was, Richie couldn't very well argue with that. "You really want me to do this, huh?"

"We've been over this, Richie. Yes, I think it's important for you to find out what's going on," Duncan replied, with a mixture of exasperation and concern. He watched as the young man ducked his head and dropped his half-eaten breakfast onto the counter. "Why don't you want to go, Rich," he asked, reading the redhead's body language.

"I didn't say I didn't want to go," Richie hedged, casting a quick glance up at the older man then back down to the countertop.

"You *do* want to find out why you're sleepwalking, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure," Richie quickly answered, but his voice lacked conviction. "I need to know, right?"

"Right," Duncan confirmed, feeling a general disquiet at his student's sudden prolonged lapses into silence. That pattern had become more and more pronounced the past week, a direct contrast to Richie's normal hundred-mile-an-hour spiels, and he didn't like it one bit. "Why don't you go get dressed," he said finally. "We can stop by the dojo and see how Jason's doing, then head over to Joe's for an early lunch. You didn't do much damage to that Danish, and I know Joe would like to see you."

"You mean see me awake," Richie retorted, trying to make light of the situation. His downcast expression ruined the attempt.

"Get dressed, Rich. I'll call Joe and let him know we're coming by."

Richie was silent during the drive to the dojo and bar, his eyes locked straight ahead, teeth worrying his lower lip. He reminded Duncan of a kid on his way to the dreaded doctor's office...which was, of course, what he was...in a sense.

Richie's uneasiness regarding his impending appointment grew throughout lunch, to the point where he was fidgeting incessantly, fingers tapping on the tabletop, gaze drifting to his watch time and again until his companions were nearly as nervous as he. 

Sensing that the Highlander was a little out of his element handling Richie in this emotional state, Joe offered to come along, nonplused when both Immortals nearly fell over each other accepting. He tactfully pretended not to notice the embarrassed glances they shot one another at this and fixed his gaze on his beer glass, wondering silently if a psychiatrist would be able to discover just what was at the root of Richie's problem. Then there was MacLeod; to the Watcher it was obvious that the Scot was more concerned about their young friend than he wanted to let on. That Richie seemed oblivious to this was just another indication that he was not himself.

All Joe could do was be there for them, lending his support and friendship-and pray that, now, they were on the right track to pulling Richie from whatever dark road he had started down.

The threesome made the trip to the Heights in the T-bird, Richie sprawled across the back seat, having ceded the front passenger side to Joe and his cane. 

It would have made for a pleasant drive had the sun been out. It wasn't. The clouds seemed to have set in for good, dampening everyone's already somber mood as the sporadic showers saturated the city itself.

Duncan drew his trenchcoat more closely around him as he pulled the car into the private lot in front of Dr. Korsikov's building. With its dark wood and landscaped walkway the two-story structure gave the impression of a home well cared for, rather than a workplace-an impression, the Highlander was sure, was as much to put the patients at ease as a reflection of the personal tastes of the owner.

If Richie was an example of how well it succeeded in this area, then it was an abysmal failure; when Duncan placed a hand on the young Immortal's elbow to urge him forward, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Sorry," Richie mumbled, giving a short, nervous laugh. "I guess I'm a little jumpy. Maybe we should go in."

"That would be my choice, too. Unless you think the doc's going to come to us," Joe remarked, his gentle squeeze of the redhead's shoulder taking the sting out of his words. He moved carefully across the wet blacktop, closing the distance to the carved oversized outer door.

"Yeah, right," was the muttered comeback as Richie shook himself and leapt forward to open the door for the older man. "Age before beauty," he sallied, with just a touch of his normal exuberance.

"You heard the kid, MacLeod...you first," Joe said wryly, stepping aside to allow the dark-haired Immortal to enter first.

He did, giving a mumbled 'children' for their benefit, along with a disdainful sniff.

"Your turn," Richie prompted the Watcher, and received a playful cuff to the side of the head before Joe followed in Duncan's wake, leaving Richie to bring up the rear.

He made it two feet into the foyer before the urge to bolt nearly overwhelmed him, but found that Duncan and Joe had taken up places to either side of him, as if reading his mind.

It was Duncan who announced them when they reached the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length blondish hair, a few strands of grey standing out boldly at her temples. She greeted them warmly and placed a clipboard and the requisite medical history forms in Richie's suddenly numb fingers. Duncan relieved him of it and filled in the blanks, adding a few embellishments to the area marked 'recent illnesses' to give the illusion of a normal twenty-one year old male mortal.

Richie's anxiety was a palpable thing as they were shown into Dr. Korsikov's office to await her, and he settled onto the couch beside Duncan only after pacing fruitlessly for several minutes.

"Calm down, Rich," Duncan advised, laying a hand on his right arm. "She won't bite, I promise."

"Ha, ha, very funny. Easy for you to say, you're not about to have your head shrunk."

Joe's snort of amusement at that assessment of the situation had Richie throwing him a dark look and flopping back sullenly against the cushions.

Several minutes passed in silence, the only sound the ticking of a crystal clock on the large cherry-wood desk and the patter of light rain on the bay window behind it.

Richie tensed, rising from his slouched position when the presence of another Immortal hit him. His hand automatically went to the sword secreted within his clothing, but Duncan's hand clapped onto his arm and stayed him. He shot the Scot a puzzled look, then three pair of eyes shifted to the open door and the petite figure standing there.

The top of Vanya Korsikov's head would barely reach Richie's shoulders, but she exuded a confidence that belied her size as she strode into the room, hand extended toward the nearest man, Joe.

"I'm Dr. Korsikov...Vanya," she said, giving the silver-haired Watcher a warm smile. 

"Joe Dawson, ma'am. Pleased to meet you," he replied, taking the proffered hand and shaking it gently.

"Let me guess." She cocked her head of raven black hair to the side and turned her gaze to the other occupants of the room, zoning in on the taller of the two. "You must be Duncan MacLeod." She released Joe to meet the Scot halfway, repeating the gesture of greeting. "Sean sings your praises," she teased, her gamin smile captivating all three men.

"All lies, I swear it," Duncan jested, returning the smile. He felt rather than saw Richie shift from foot to foot beside him and drew the doctor toward him. "And this is—"

"—Richie," Vanya finished for him, laying a small hand on each of the young man's arms. She looked directly into his eyes, never yielding until, ultimately, he did the same. "I'm glad you came," she said simply, lightly squeezing his arms through his cotton shirt and giving a small nod, as if he had passed some unknown test.

"Yeah, um...yeah, me, too," Richie stammered, surprised to find that he meant every word.

"Good." Another squeeze of his arms and she released him, turning toward the taller men. "If Richie wishes, we can discuss his case later, but, for now, he and I need to get acquainted."

"Of course," Joe concurred, already moving for the door. "Mac and I will be outside if you need us, Rich."

"I don't mind if they stay," Richie objected, his tone laced with barely-concealed panic.

Duncan threw him a smile meant to reassure. "You'll do fine, Richie. Just let Doctor...let Vanya help you, all right?"

Richie frowned at the door as it closed behind the Highlander and turned to find Korsikov regarding him silently, her deep brown eyes surprisingly sympathetic.

"You're an Immortal," he said abruptly, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

Korsikov smiled at the incredulity in his voice. "How else could I help mortal and Immortal alike? I wouldn't be much good to you if you couldn't be completely honest with me."

"Makes sense," Richie conceded.

"Good. We'll do just fine, you and I. Please, have a seat and we'll get started."

"What, I don't have to lie down?"

"You've been watching too much late-night television," she said with a small laugh.

Richie smiled easily in return-the sound of her laughter was infectious. "I've gotta tell ya," he said, dropping down onto the oversized chair Joe had vacated, "you're not what I pictured."

"Ah, let me guess. You envisioned an elderly gentleman with silver-gray hair and a smelly pipe, studying you from over the top of an ornate leather journal while he scribbled mysterious notes inside?"

"Well, I knew you were a woman, but other than that you're not too far off."

"That stereotype went out with the forties...thank goodness. Do you think you can adjust?"

"To having a beautiful woman for a shrink instead of a stodgy old windbag? Yeah, I think I can handle it."

She laughed at his youthful grin, the sound warm and genuine. "Good, because I don't see myself turning into a stodgy old windbag any time soon."

He laughed with her and waited while she took the seat across from his to say, "Can I ask how old you are?"

"I turned one hundred and eighty-three last April, and you're twenty-one, right?"

"Yeah. You're one of the youngest Immortals I've met," he informed her, hands clasped in his lap but never still. "Most of them are hundreds of years older than me."

"Really? How does that make you feel?"

"Like the runt of the litter," he said with a small laugh. "It would be kind of nice to know there were more of us out there who were around my age."

"It worries you that you entered the Game so young?"

"It doesn't really *worry* me," he answered, one foot knocking lightly against the chair leg. "But I guess it doesn't say much for my chances of making it when everybody else seems to have so much more experience than I do."

"Not necessarily. You're young, yes, but that youth and vitality could work in your favor, and from what Sean has told me of Duncan you couldn't have a finer teacher."

"I know. I was lucky. He's taught me a lot, like how to think with my head, not my heart."

"Good advice, but sometimes easier said than done."

"You got that right. I made some bonehead mistakes in the beginning of my training, but I'm learning."

"Tell me about your relationship with Duncan. From what I've seen so far, and from little Sean has told me, he seems to dote on you quite a bit."

Richie blushed at that and shifted in his seat. "He's that way with all of his friends," he said, brushing away the warm feeling the words gave him.

Vanya studied him in silence for several moments. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Mac's just being a mother hen."

Vanya smiled at the mental picture. "You think he's overreacting? You don't think your disappearing for hours at a time-supposedly while asleep-and returning in torn, bloody clothing isn't something to be concerned about?"

"Well, when you put it like that," Richie retorted with a wry grin, then shrugged. "Whatever it is, it'll probably work itself out, sooner or later."

"You think so?" Her only answer was another shrug of the redhead's shoulders.

She made a mental note of that, and moved on. "You called Duncan-Mac-a mother hen. Is that a new experience for you? Being mothered?"

"I don't have to tell you that Immortals don't have parents. Not real ones, anyway, but there was a woman when I was little...Emily Ryan. I thought she was my mother for a while."

"And where is she now?"

"She...she died when I was about four."

"And there's been no one since then?"

"Lots of foster mothers, but nobody special...except Tessa."

"Tessa?"

"Yeah, she was Mac's...she and Mac were an item for a long time. A long time by my clock, anyway. She acted like my mother sometimes, even though she wasn't old enough. I think she wanted kids pretty bad. She would've been a great mom," he finished, just above a whisper. 

"And where is Tessa now?"

"She's...dead." There was just the barest hesitation in his answer as he shifted restlessly in his chair, eyes sliding away to survey the room. His gaze drifted to the display case on the wall beside him and he sprang to his feet without warning.

"This is really old, isn't it?" he asked, finger following the lines of the short-bladed, gold-hilted scimitar encased within the glass receptacle.

"Yes, it is-circa 1300 A.D. How did she die?"

"Die?" Richie repeated, his attention centered on the blade.

"Tessa. How did she die?"

"She was shot."

"How long ago?"

"Two years," he said, eyes vacant as he stared straight ahead. He gave himself a mental shake and turned to face her. "They were going to get married, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't. How did you feel about that?"

"I thought it was great. I was gonna be best man." He wore a brilliant smile for all of thirty seconds, then it faded away to be replaced by that guarded expression once more. "Yeah, well...that was a long time ago."

"Two years," Vanya reminded him.

"Yeah," he droned, missing the irony.

"Didn't Sean tell me that you had your first death two years ago?"

"That's right."

"Rough year," Vanya observed.

Richie gave a short, humorless laugh. "Rough day."

"I don't understand."

Sighing tiredly, the redhead moved away from the weapon. "Tessa and I were shot to death by the same guy," he explained.

Korsikov carefully schooled her features to hide her surprise. "I see. That must have been very difficult for you, losing your mother-figure and your mortality at the same time."

Richie shrugged yet again, making the petite Immortal long to shake a response out of him, though outwardly she remained calm as she watched him move to the couch and flop down upon it.

"Like I said, it was a long time ago."

"But you thought quite a lot of her," Vanya persisted.

"Everybody loved Tessa," he reflected softly, staring at the clenched fists resting in his lap. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and turned his gaze to her. "Look, no offense or anything, but what does all this have to do with me sleepwalking?"

"Maybe nothing. Why? Does it make you uncomfortable to talk about what happened?"

"Talking about it won't change anything. Tessa'll still be gone."

"She'll still be gone, yes, but sometimes talking can help a great deal," Vanya contradicted him. "You might be surprised."

The look Richie shot her was clearly skeptical. "Surprises aren't one of my favorite things. They usually involve death or sword-wielding Immortals, or both," he informed her.

"You're much too young to be so cynical," Vanya scolded mildly, feeling a sudden protectiveness for the relatively new-born Immortal.

"Hey, I resemble that remark," he quipped, throwing her a cocky grin that was extremely short-lived. "Vanya...nice name. Where are you from originally?"

"Russia. A small village outside Stalingrad. You wouldn't recognize the name-it doesn't exist now. The Cossacks ravaged it in one of the Czar's pogroms." Her tone was pensive with just a touch of anger.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you-but as you said-it was a long time ago. Besides, we're here to talk about you," she reminded him with a knowing smile.

"Not much to talk about," Richie hedged. 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Why don't we jump to these nightly walks of yours? You have no recollection of them at all?"

"It's like I told Mac. I remember going to bed, but it's like I'm drugged or someone's taking over my body, cuz, next thing I know, I'm outside somewhere struggling for air, and I look like I've been through a meat grinder."

"And what makes you think this is a case of sleepwalking?" Vanya asked, making a quick entry on her workpad.

Richie squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable with the subject matter. "Mac and Joe followed me last night," he admitted. "I walked right by them up to the roof of my building and jumped off. I guess I was really out of it."

"You don't think there's a possibility that you were drugged?"

"I don't see how. I didn't eat or drink the same things every night. A few times I didn't eat dinner at all-too tired. One night earlier this week I crashed at a friend's house while he was away, just to be sure it wasn't something in my apartment, but it happened there, too."

"Well, it does sound as if you've given it a lot of thought."

Richie rolled his eyes at that. "Oh, yeah, I think about it all right. Seems like it's all I think about anymore. I thought maybe I was losing it until Mac came up with the sleepwalking idea," he confessed.

"That hadn't occurred to you?" Vanya asked.

"Not really. I mean, I never did it before. Why start now?" he reasoned.

She smiled, trying to project encouragement. "Good question. That's what we're here to find out."

"Yeah." A huge yawn broke across Richie's face and he squelched it in embarrassment. "Sorry, I haven't gotten much sleep lately."

"No I don't suppose you have." She set her pad and pen aside. "I'll tell you what, I think we could use a break. I cleared the rest of my appointments for the day when Sean called, so that's not a worry. Why don't you stretch out for a while and see if you can't take a little nap while I go talk to your friends?"

"A nap, huh?" he repeated, grinning in spite of himself. "I hate to admit it, but that sounds pretty good about now."

"It's decided, then." She rose to her feet and moved to stand before him. "What would you like me to tell Duncan and Mr. Dawson, if anything? Everything you've told me is completely confidential, of course, unless you say otherwise."

"Mac and Joe already know about all the stuff we talked about, so it doesn't make much difference. I mean, it's no big deal."

"All right. As long as I have your permission," she affirmed, turning toward the door.

"Sure, why not?" Richie murmured drowsily, kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the couch, a throw pillow under his head. "Doesn't matter," he added softly, eyes drifting shut.

Vanya turned back to the couch for a moment, taking in the young face relaxed in sleep, her own brow furrowed in concern. Having died at twenty-nine she had only ten mortal years on him, but the one-hundred and fifty some odd years she'd lived since that first death had given her an undeniable edge on the new ones. And this one was *so* young...so *painfully* young to just be starting out. He would need all the help he could get. She would give him all she could for as long as he needed, her promise to Sean aside. This promise she made to herself as she crossed the foyer to join Richie's companions. 

She stopped at the reception desk long enough to tell Peggy, her assistant, to take the rest of the day off, then moved across the room to the others.

"Is everything all right? Where's Richie?" Joe asked rapid-fire, openly concerned at Vanya appearing without a certain redhead in tow.

She smiled her reassurance as they rose to meet her, gazing up into first one worried face, then the other. "He's fine. He's sleeping, and it seemed a good time to discuss a few things with you both."

"Is that kosher...talking about him, I mean?" Joe inquired.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality? Don't worry, I have Richie's blessing to discuss his case with you, but I would prefer it didn't go any further."

"It won't," Joe stated, glancing briefly at the stone-faced Scot at his side for confirmation.

"Good," Vanya said with a nod. She took a seat in the nearby circular conversation area and waited while both men did the same before continuing. "Your young friend is quite adept at hiding his emotions when he wants to. I also get the impression he would like to use his not inconsiderable charm to get around my questions."

The Watcher snorted his agreement of that. "He does have a talent for misdirection, doesn't he? As for the charm, you wouldn't be the first woman to lose her train of thought when he flashed his pearly whites."

"The smile and big blue eyes I can handle, but I am concerned with the almost desperate need he has to downplay his feelings."

"Richie?" Joe exclaimed in surprise. "I'd call the kid more on the spontaneous side. Most of the time, anyway. 'Course if you're asking him questions about his past, that's something else. Kid's pretty tight-lipped about that stuff."

"He does show a tendency to try to shrug off the more painful events. That's not uncommon, but it's not very healthy. Sooner or later those emotions are going to bubble over."

"Yeah, I saw a lot of that after Nam. Some of those guys just snapped years later. Held everything in too long."

Duncan spoke up for the first time at that. "Are you saying that Richie could snap emotionally?"

"No, not at all," Vanya assured him. "I'm just saying that if you bury the pain too long and too well, it can manifest itself in other ways. Sleepwalking is just one of those ways."

"I don't like the sound of that," Joe murmured.

"Neither do I," Duncan concurred darkly. "What can we do to get through to him?"

"I do have an idea, if he'll agree to it."

Joe leaned back in his seat and tapped his cane on the floor. "That could be a big 'if'. Richie wasn't thrilled about seeing a psychiatrist in the first place."

Duncan brushed that off with a wave of his hand, as if Richie's complying were a forgone conclusion. "What's your idea?"

"I'd like to hypnotize him. Hear me out," she counseled, one hand raised to halt the objection she sensed was coming. "It's perfectly safe, you can even be in the room if Richie agrees. I simply put him in a relaxed state where he's free to answer my questions without his conscious mind putting up obstacles. No drugs, nothing against his will," she explained. "I'm a great believer in first impressions and, to me, he appears to be a very forthright young man. Hiding his feelings as he obviously is must be quite a strain on him...and both of you."

"Hypnotism?" Joe repeated, one eyebrow raised. "No offense, Doc, but I always thought that was more of a parlor game."

Korsikov smiled tolerantly. "That's a common misconception. I've been using the technique for over eighty years and it can be very helpful with stubborn patients."

"Like Richie," Duncan supplied.

"Well, normally I would recommend continued visits twice a week while we delved into what was behind these episodes of his."

"We don't have that kind of time," the Scot reminded her, rising from his seat to pace the confines of their area.

"In this case I don't believe we do, no," Vanya continued. "From what you've witnessed, Richie's already to the point of self-mutilation. I really don't want to draw out this process any longer than necessary. He may be immortal, but these continued suicides could be causing a great deal of psychological damage, and that won't heal overnight." 

// His eyes opened abruptly, deepest blue, unblinking as he sat up and scanned his surroundings, searching...finding.

He moved unerringly across the room, breathing evenly, limbs relaxed as his goal came within reach.

A lock-an obstacle to overcome. He drew back his fist and lashed out, striking the glass forcefully, shards tearing skin, bones snapping under the pressure.

A simple thing now to reach in, pull it free, feel its weight, know its purpose.

It fit his hands perfectly, the blade glinting in the lamplight as the sharp edge was turned inward. Left hand on the hilt, right wrapped around the point, pain only a phantom as the edge bit into the flesh of the palm and fingers, blood running freely down the raised arm as he brought the blade above shoulder height, holding it horizontal, neck extended, vulnerable, ready. It would end here. //

Duncan nodded thoughtfully at Korsikov's words, relieved that she had the experience Richie needed and the willingness to use it to his benefit. "If that's true, then we need to move on this right away."

"I agree," Vanya said. "As soon as we have Richie's blessing we—"

The sound of glass shattering swung all three around to face the closed door to Korsikov's office. Duncan moved first, striding swiftly across the foyer and throwing the door wide, Vanya close behind as he burst across the threshold. The sight that greeted them froze the Scot in place for the space of a heartbeat, then he lunged across the few feet separating him from Richie and tried to wrestle the blade away from the young Immortal's hands.

"Careful, Duncan! Careful!" Vanya cried at his elbow, her small hands wrapped about one of Richie's arms, tugging fruitlessly against his greater strength.

Surprised at the redhead's vigor, Duncan steeled himself, releasing his grip on the sword's hilt with his right hand and rabbit-punching Richie with all the force he could muster.

The young man's head snapped back at the force of the blow and he dropped like a rock, the carpeted floor cushioning his fall only marginally.

Duncan wasted no time in placing the scimitar behind him, well out of reach. He moved to Richie's head then and, kneeling, pulled the young Immortal up from his prone position, resting his protege's upper torso against his and wrapping an arm around his chest to hold him in place. With his free hand he checked for injuries, frowning at what he found.

There were several deep cuts across the palms of both of the young man's hands, several going right to the bone, but it was the nasty-looking slashes across his throat that drew the group's attention.

"Will they heal?" Vanya asked, voicing everyone's concerns as she knelt beside them, her hands moving to staunch the flow of blood from the wounds even as a barely discernible blue light flickered across them, doing the job for her. "Thank goodness," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly, giving a short, silent prayer to a higher power.

Richie cradled in his lap, Duncan looked up at Joe-his own face mirroring the Watcher's distress-and a silent message passed between them. They turned to Vanya as one. "When can you do it?"

"Hypnotize him? I would say today, but he needs to be receptive to it and I think after this we'll need to give him time to decompress...and ourselves, as well."

"Tomorrow, then," Duncan intoned resolutely.

"Tomorrow," she vowed with equal resolve.

Richie was both confused and chagrined to awaken wrapped in Duncan's embracing arms once more, and his embarrassment only increased when he looked up to find both Vanya and Joe hovering over them, white-faced. The Watcher smiled and thumped his cane on the floor to announce his pleasure at the redhead's return, while Vanya, feeling the need to get physical, laid her hand briefly on Richie's chest. 

Duncan, too, tried to smile as Richie pulled away and sat up, but the memory of his young friend standing with a sword to his own neck was still too fresh in his mind, the impulse to blame himself almost overwhelming as Richie listened wide-eyed to a blow by blow replay of his latest trip to the far side with an expression that was a mixture of apprehension and disbelief.

The young Immortal was forced to accept it: his bloody clothing and the demolished display case lent the tale a credibility with which he couldn't argue, much as he wished to.

Duncan's insistence that he move in with him temporarily was another matter. That he did argue with, long and loud, bowing to the wisdom of the idea only after the Highlander threatened to kick his butt across town. That didn't stop him from pouting on the ride to his apartment to shower, change, and pick up some necessities. Nor did it keep him from muttering about high-handed Immortal babysitters all the way to the loft. "It's only temporary, Richie," Duncan told him for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "Only until we can find out what the problem is." They crossed the dojo, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator.

"And how long will that take? I haven't needed anyone to tuck me in for a long time, you know?" Richie came back petulantly.

"Is that what this is about?" Duncan asked as they reached the loft. "Rich, when Garrick was after my head and I was acting strangely, you stayed with me even though I told you to go, right?"

"Right," the redhead agreed suspiciously, seeing where this was headed.

"Why?"

"Why?" Richie repeated, stalling.

"Why did you stay?"

A helpless shrug, then, "We're friends."

"That's right, we are." Duncan regarded his young friend fondly for a moment, then, "Now shut up and put your stuff away," he ordered, a wry smile on his face. "You can take part of the closet, but don't hog all the good hangers. Keep all the junk food here that you want, I'd just better not find any potato chip crumbs on the floor...and keep your feet off the furniture," he added as an afterthought.

"Anything else?" Richie grumbled, irked at how easily the Scot had steamrolled him.

"Just one thing...you get the couch."

"Gee, thanks," the young man snorted, grinning in spite of himself. "You're all heart."

Duncan laughed with him, heartened to see the light back in the young man's eyes. He hurled one of his pillows to the redhead, smiling evilly as Richie dropped his duffel bag and jacket in order to catch it.

"Swift move, Mac," Richie griped, throwing the pillow onto the couch and retrieving his jacket; he gave it a rough shake.

"You can make up the couch later. I told Joe we'd meet him for dinner."

"*Two* babysitters?" Richie groused.

"Richie—" Duncan began in his standard lecturing tone.

"I know, I know," the younger Immortal capitulated, one hand raised. "Two *friends*. I got it."

Duncan merely gave him a small, tolerant smile. "Anything you want to do before we head out?"

"No, I'm cool."

A nod and Duncan started for the stairs, missing the frown that marred the young man's face as guilt replaced righteous indignation.

"Mac, hold on," Richie called out sheepishly. He moved up beside the older man, gave a heavy sigh, then met his gaze squarely. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you and Joe are just looking out for me. I really do appreciate it, even if I don't show it sometimes. It's just that I don't know what's been wrong with me lately and...well, I guess I'm a little edgy."

The Highlander lay a hand on his shoulder, frowning himself as the redhead drooped noticeably under the weight. He banished the frown quickly, trying for a more reassuring expression even as he winced inwardly at the badly bloodshot eyes of his companion.

"It's all right, Richie. You don't hear us complaining, do you?" The young Immortal's raised eyebrows at that statement prompted Duncan to smack him playfully upside the head and snort, "Never mind. Come on," he urged, taking Richie by the arm and pulling him along. "Somewhere out there is a steak with my name on it."

~~~~~~~~

"Damn that spring," Richie muttered under his breath as he rolled over onto his back, wriggling to displace the metal coil that had been trying its best to make a permanent impression on his left shoulder for the last fifteen minutes. He gave a muffled curse as it pressed into his back now, rising up enough to bunch the edge of one blanket underneath him on that side, forming a barrier between his overly-sensitive skin and the persistent agitator. A soul-wrenching sigh escaped him, and he blew a lungful of air out of his mouth in resignation and rubbed a hand across his eyes. He didn't need to see a clock to know it was well past midnight...and getting later every minute.

It should have been the best night's sleep he'd had since this whole thing began-what with 'big brother' playing watchdog-but, inexplicably, Richie was wide awake, watching shadows shift and elongate as the moonlight filtering through the windows played across the furniture in the loft.

He pulled himself to a sitting position finally, wincing as the same spring that had been tormenting him squeaked loudly in triumph.

"Can't sleep?"

Richie whipped around to face the bedroom area, barely making out the dark form lounging on the king-sized bed there.

"Oh, man. I didn't mean to wake you up," he mumbled, making a grab for one of the blankets before it slipped to the floor.

"Worried about the session tomorrow?" Duncan asked, his relaxed, even tone doing little to assuage Richie's inner demons.

"Why would I be worried?" the young Immortal replied a little too quickly, voice pitched just a little too high to be convincing. "It's not like she's going to hurt me or anything, right?"

"Right."

"Just because I'm going to be lying there, totally vulnerable, while someone I barely know picks my brain, that's no reason to lose sleep, right?" he continued, jumping to his feet and pacing the length of the couch like a caged animal.

"Richie..."

"So I make an ass of myself in front of my two best friends and a beautiful woman. No problem. Been there, done that, right?"

"Richie, you're working yourself up over nothing. Joe and I aren't going to be there to judge, only to lend moral support. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can wait in the outer office, just like we did today."

The younger man stopped his pacing, facing his mentor across the room, running a hand down the back of his head and massaging the stress-tightened muscles at the base of his neck. "No...I...I want you guys to be there," he stammered. "I just wish this would all go away." This last came out as a desperate whisper, but Duncan heard it just the same.

"It will, Rich. Just give it time."

"Yeah, sure, Mac...time," the redhead repeated, his tone dubious.

"I know standing around doing nothing isn't your strong suit—" A humorless snort met this statement. "—*but*," Duncan continued, "this time you have to bow to someone else's wisdom, and trust that Dr. Korsikov knows what she's doing."

"I know," Richie admitted. "But, it's hard, Mac."

Duncan's heartfelt sigh made his agreement plain. "I know it is." A pause, then, "You trust me, don't you?"

"You know I do."

"Then believe me when I say I think you're doing the right thing."

When Richie spoke again his tone was quiet, subdued. "Okay, Mac." He could just make out the Scot's nod in the dim light.

"Good. Now would you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Go to bed."

"Bed. Right. Go to bed," Richie mumbled, heading back to the couch and the jumble of blankets there. The spring squealed anew as he settled his weight back down upon it, and he groaned in answer. Twisting around, he took his frustration out on his pillow, punching it into submission. Satisfied that it, at least, knew its place, he burrowed under the top blanket, letting out a sigh of relief as he found a comfortable position at last.

Both Immortals lay silently for several minutes, the younger of the two with something laying heavy on his mind. 

"Mac?" he said at length.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For everything."

Silence; then, "Go to sleep," Duncan muttered with a forced gruffness, his smile going unseen in the dark room.

Richie grunted his compliance and turned his face to the soft pillowcover, breathing in its scent as his eyes drifted shut. There was a calming sense of closure in saying the words aloud...'for everything'. 

Other words remained unsaid between them, words that would hurt or heal. But that would have to wait for another day.

~~~~~~

Dr. Korsikov's couch was a good deal more comfortable than MacLeod's—a fact Richie failed to notice, focused as he was on the Mariachi his nerves had been doing since arriving at the psychiatrist's office. Duncan and Joe, sitting in chairs adjacent to the couch, were disgustingly calm—at least to his eyes.

"Would you like a cup of tea? It might help relax you," Vanya suggested as she gathered up a few necessary items.

"I'm not much of a tea person," Richie admitted, catching the fleeting amused smile that crossed Duncan's face, knowing the Scot was thinking of his own habit of trying to foist herbal remedies off on a younger, pre-Immortal version of the redhead. "A Coke would be good."

Vanya stopped what she was doing long enough to throw him a long-suffering look over one shoulder. "And have you bouncing off the walls? I think not. The idea is to calm you down, not see if you can run the one-minute mile."

"If you really want to calm me down, we could forget all this and go out for drinks."

That earned him stares from all three of his elders, but it was Korsikov who spoke. 

"Is that what you want to do?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, but Mac and Joe were watching him expectantly and he knew he couldn't...he wouldn't disappoint them; he'd disappointed enough people in his life.

"No. No, that's not what I want." There was a nearly audible sigh of relief from the onlookers. "Let's do it," Richie said determinedly, physically bracing himself, hands clenched atop his stomach.

Vanya smiled at the picture he presented, lying there like some sacrificial virgin on the altar of a vengeful god. "Richie, relax. I promise you won't feel a thing."

He made a concerted effort to do as she asked, taking several deep, cleansing breaths and rubbing his icy hands together, trying to summon up some body heat.

Vanya pulled her chair up beside the couch, and sat facing him. "Ready?" she asked, placing a few seemingly innocuous items in her lap.

"Ready," he replied, looking anything but.

"Good. Now, this is all very simple. I want you to stay calm and focus on the sound of my voice. Tune everything else out-the room, your stalwart friends here, the rain outside-everything but my voice. You hear only my voice," she droned in a soothing monotone.

Richie's breathing slowed, his eyes focused on her face.

Vanya picked up one of the items in her lap, a thin white candle about six inches long. She struck a match and lit it, holding it up before her. "Look at the flame, Richie. Silver-white, hot, pure light. Let it become your world. Nothing exists outside the flame except my voice."

Several minutes passed, three figures focused on one lying prone on a couch, while Richie focused entirely on a flame. Finally, Vanya raised the third and final object-an amulet.

"Concentrate, Richie. The light and my voice." She raised the amulet in her free hand, holding it above the candle then, started it swaying gently to and fro, lowering it fractionally with each pass until it crossed in front of the flame. Back and forth, back and forth, never modulating in speed or trajectory: an even, steady arc.

"See the light, Richie," Korsikov's voice ordered. "There is only the light and my voice. Can you see it?"

Richie's pupils were near pin-points, the shallow rise and fall of his chest nearly imperceptible. "Yes," he uttered, voice low and almost frighteningly detached.

"Good. You're calm, aren't you?" Her voice itself was hypnotic.

"Yes...calm."

"You feel safe in the light, don't you?"

"Safe."

Drawing his gaze away from the scene before him with an effort, Duncan cast a quick look at the man at his side; Joe was watching the proceedings with a childlike fascination that he, himself, didn't share. Finding his gaze relentlessly drawn back to his protege, he studied the face he knew so well. There was an absence of spirit in the expression the young Immortal wore that was disconcerting to the Scot—as if the Richie he knew had retreated to some dark corner of his mind, leaving only an empty shell behind.

Vanya had lowered the candle to her knee, the amulet resting in her lap once more, when she spoke again. "I want you to close your eyes now and feel the warmth of the light surrounding you." She waited until the redhead's eyes had drifted shut before continuing.

"What's your full name?"

"Richard Ryan."

"What do your friends call you?

"Richie." 

"How old are you, Richie?"

"Twenty-one."

"And how long have you been an Immortal?"

"All my life."

Vanya smiled, and rephrased. "How long have you been living as an Immortal?"

"Two years."

"That's right, two years. That's very good. Richie, can you tell me why you've had trouble sleeping lately?"

A hesitation, then, "make it right," he mumbled.

"Make it right? What does that mean, 'make it right'?"

"I'm responsible, I...have to make it right."

Vanya cast a confused glance at the two silent observers. Duncan returned the look and shook his head, as much at a loss as to Richie's meaning as she was. They both turned to Joe then, and the Watcher shrugged one shoulder, his look one of preoccupation as he mentally sought out some clue to the young Immortal's words.

Vanya tried again. "Richie, what does 'make it right' mean? Can you tell me?"

"I'm responsible," the redhead repeated, his gaze no longer one of serenity, hands once more curled into fists.

"Responsible for what?" she persisted, her tone infinitely patient. "What are you responsible for, Richie?"

"I'm sorry," was the unenlightening reply. The redhead was becoming more agitated by the minute, legs thrashing uselessly against the couch cushions, mouth drawn into a tight frown. "Tessa...I'm sorry."

Intrigued by this new development, Korsikov turned to Duncan, finding the Scot's face a study in confusion—and something else...surprise? pain? fear?

Her attention returned to Richie abruptly as the young Immortal threw out one arm in his increasingly distraught state, his flailing hand connecting with a Lalique bowl and sweeping both it and its contents to the floor.

"Richie, you're safe in the light," she reminded him, kneeling to matter-of-factly set the remaining objets d'art atop the coffee table out of harm's way.

Her words didn't have the calming effect she expected; rather the young man drew in his legs, as if he were trying to pull himself into a fetal position. Incomprehensible sounds issued from his lips.

"What's going on? What's wrong?" Duncan demanded, breaking his silence. He came out of his chair and moved to the couch, resisting the impulse to reach out and touch the figure curled up there, afraid that the physical contact might send Richie deeper into his trance-induced misery.

"I don't know," Vanya admitted, maintaining her calm demeanor as she, too, stood. "He's pulling away from me. I'll have to bring him out," she concluded with regret. "Richie, listen to the sound of my voice," she urged, sitting on the edge of the couch beside him. "I'm going to count to five and I want you to come out of the light. You will follow the sound of my voice...and leave the light. Do you understand?"

His response was a nonverbal twitching of his head that she interpreted as a yes.

"Good. One...you hear only the sound of my voice. 

Two...it's time to leave the light, Richie. 

Three...you're out of the light now. 

Four...you will open your eyes and remember everything that has happened here. 

Five."

For one tense moment, Duncan thought Richie was still lost to them, then the young Immortal went through a physical metamorphosis, limbs relaxing, life coming back to his features even as blue eyes opened.

His expression was blank for several seconds, then memory returned, and with it, fear.

A veteran of emotional crises, Vanya had anticipated his reaction and was there to grab his hand when he sat bolt upright.

"I'm sorry," he moaned, his voice a plaintive wail for something even he couldn't fathom.

"None of that," Vanya scolded, hand still gripping his. "You did very well. We weren't looking for ground-shaking revelations here, Richie. The subconscious mind isn't a wise man's playground—there are booby-traps around every corner."

Richie nodded shakily, only mildly reassured by her words and the tremulous smiles of his friends.

Duncan gave in to his impulse to touch the young man then, and lay a hand on Richie's left shoulder, fingers cupping the back of the Immortal's neck in a familiar gesture. "You had me worried there for a minute, Toughguy."

"I'm sorry," Richie said again, letting the warmth of his teacher's regard wash over him.

"Don't, Rich," the Scot uttered gruffly, giving Richie's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't apologize. You didn't ask for any of this."

"I know, but I thought it would be over, and now—"

"Now, we keep going," Duncan told him firmly. "For as long as it takes. We're all in this for the long haul, Richie." He looked to Joe for confirmation.

"You bet," the Watcher chimed in, tapping his cane on the carpet for emphasis. "Never let it be said that Joe Dawson ran from a fight. Face it, you're stuck with us, kid." He grinned shamelessly at the group of Immortals.

"Thanks, Joe, but I can handle this by myself," Richie said with a confidence he didn't feel.

"No," Duncan contradicted him with an air of finality.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Richie retorted, bristling visibly.

"No, you're not going to handle this by yourself," the Highlander elaborated, with a commanding tone he saved for teacher-to-student speeches. "Joe and I aren't going to walk away and let you go through this alone. You might as well accept the fact that you need help here."

"This from the lone boyscout," Richie quipped sarcastically, drawing a snort of agreement from a certain bar owner.

Duncan threw them both a self-deprecating smile. "I may not be the ideal role-model on that one," he admitted. "Why don't we call this one of those 'do as I say, not as I do' scenarios?"

"Another one, huh?" The redhead gave a long-suffering sigh, followed by a short bark of laughter. "I guess that means I'm stuck with you guys."

"I guess it does," Vanya piped in, smiling warmly at the threesome. She turned her attention to the young Immortal beside her. "How do you feel, Richie?"

"Tired, but okay. You want to talk some more, huh?"

"I'd like to, if you feel up to it."

"Yeah, sure," he said with a lack of enthusiasm. "Would it be all right if I got washed up first?"

"Of course," Vanya replied, understanding the young man's need for a minute or two to himself after their rather intense session. "Just go down the hall to the end, last door on the left."

"Thanks," Richie said gratefully, circumnavigating a hovering Scot and striding out the door.

Duncan waited until they heard the door close down the hall before confronting the learned doctor. "Just what happened here?"

"It's hard to say. He was obviously distressed by the questions, even on a subconscious level. That's very rare, but not unheard of. Whatever is upsetting him runs very deep." She moved to her desk and leaned against it, one hand toying idly with the small crystal clock. "He mentioned Tessa. Has something happened lately that might have dredged up memories of her?"

Joe seemed about to speak, but shot a look at MacLeod and held his tongue. 

It was the Highlander who intoned darkly, "Roszka."

"Roszka?" 

"The man who shot Tessa and Richie that night. Richie ran across him a few weeks ago and was considering vigilante justice. I talked to him...he did the right thing."

"And that would be?"

"He let Roszka go."

"Ah. I see," she murmured, withholding her opinion on that. "And this began shortly after that? Well...it seems we have a catalyst."

"You think that's it?" Joe asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. "That's all it would take?"

"Coming face to face with your murderer? Someone who stole your hopes for a 'normal' life...a wife, children—who took away a dear friend in front of your eyes and shattered the only home you'd known since you were a child. Do I think that would be enough to cause emotional turmoil, even push him to suicide? Yes, I have no doubt that it could. I can think of very few things that would be more traumatic. The fact that Richie hasn't suffered from these episodes before this makes it extremely likely."

"But why sleepwalk? What's he trying to find?"

"We don't know that he's trying to *find* anything. Maybe he's reliving the incident or trying to get away from it. At this point we don't even know with absolute certainty that Roszka *is* the cause of all this and, until we do, I can't even start to help Richie move past it."

Joe shook his head at that. "You've seen for yourself how unwilling he is to talk about it. I know from experience that he closes up tighter than a clam whenever the subject comes up."

"That's true. He veered away from the subject in our initial consultation, as well," Vanya agreed, giving the problem some thought. "Hmm. I think for this next session I should be alone with him. Richie may be more open in front of a clinical observer than he is with his friends." She expected MacLeod to argue the point and was surprised when he assented.

"You may be right. I think Richie follows my lead sometimes and keeps things to himself."

"God save me from having two brooding Immortals on my hands," Joe prayed, gazing heavenward.

Duncan scowled in his direction, biting back a scathing retort. "Do you think you can get Richie to open up to you?" he asked, his attention on Korsikov once more.

"I'll do my very best, but in the meantime he shouldn't be left alone. If he keeps up this crusade to kill himself, sooner or later he'll succeed, Immortal or not. His subconscious has already caught on to the fact that taking his head is the solution. We saw where that led him. Maybe next time he'll seek out another Immortal and just stand there...easy Quickening. There are a great many unscrupulous Immortals out there who wouldn't turn that down."

"I know," Duncan agreed unhappily, having already considered the possibility himself. He set his jaw with determination. "Richie will stay with me until we figure this out."

"You may have a tough time convincing *him* of that," Joe pointed out.

Duncan frowned him down. "He'll stay with me...even if I have to tie him down."

"Let's hope that won't be necessary," Vanya remarked with a wry smile.

Richie returned from his attempt to compose himself looking little better. He threw the group at large an overly cheerful smile before taking a seat on the couch once more and eyeing Vanya expectantly.

"Richie, I've spoken to both Duncan and Joe and I think it might be best if you and I spoke privately now. Is that all right with you?"

"We'll stay if you want us to, Rich," Duncan assured him.

The young Immortal opened his mouth and closed it again, casting a quick glance at both of his friends before responding. Their concern was touching, but somewhere at the back of his mind came the nagging reminder that he was unworthy of it. "No, I'll be fine. You guys can head home if you want. I'll get a cab when we're done here."

It was amazing how quickly concern could morph into displeasure.

"Joe and I will be in the lobby, Richie," the Scot informed him, his scowl mirrored by the Watcher at his side.

"That's right, son," Joe expounded. "We told you, we're not going anywhere. Try to get that through that thick head of yours." He playfully whapped Richie's head for emphasis, drawing a grudging laugh from the young Immortal.

"I'll try, Joe."

The mortal grunted his approval and turned toward the door, Duncan at his elbow should his support be needed.

"Hey!" Richie called as they reached the doorway. He waited for the pair to turn back toward him before giving a heartfelt, "Thanks."

Joe thumped his cane on the floor in response and stepped out into the hall. Duncan remained in the doorway, gaze locked on his protege for a full minute before Vanya's subtle throat-clearing brought him out of his fog. He smiled ruefully, hand on the doorknob. "Take your time," he told her, waiting for her nod before stepping out and pulling the door to behind him.

"Alone at last," Richie quipped, laughing uneasily.

"And I thought you loved me for my mind," she tsked, shaking her head at him and smiling as he laughed again, the sound more natural this time. "So, what do you think we learned today?" she asked, taking the seat across from him.

"That I've got a mean left," he joked, indicating the Lalique crystal bowl which sat upon the coffee table once again.

"Mmm," she murmured, seeing his attempt at evasion for what it was. "Shall we begin?" 

The rest of the session wound up being a lesson in futility. Richie seemed disinclined to discuss anything even remotely personal, and resisted all her attempts to draw him out. If she hadn't been so patient she might have boxed his ears, a child-rearing technique she had learned from the woman she'd once thought her mother. Still, he was no child, contrary to how she might perceive him. He was an adult, an adult who had endured more than his share of heartbreak in his twenty-one short years and, right now, she was all that stood between him and a possible mental breakdown...or an untimely death. No, that wasn't quite true. He had friends, at least two that she knew of, who-if she was any judge of character- would go to the brink with him. To find devotion like that was a rare thing, even for Immortals hundreds of years old. It was oddly comforting to know he had already engendered this kind of loyalty in mortal and Immortal alike. Maybe because she had searched so long in her life before she found its like. 

This was one battle she...*they* would not lose.

~~~~~~~~~

Another session, another dead end. Oh, Richie would speak freely enough of his recent past, but any attempt to draw him out on anything that came before was met with stoic, uninformative one-liners. While this in itself was an indication of suppressed feelings and possible danger areas, that knowledge didn't move Vanya any closer to determining the cause of the problem. She realized she needed a hook, something that would set the mood and allow her to segue into areas of concern. That she wasn't likely to get that hook from Richie was becoming more and more apparent.

After much introspection, she decided to turn to Duncan, knowing she would have to take care not to breach the therapist-patient relationship in the process. She received her chance after the completion of the following day's session. 

With it pouring, yet again, Richie had volunteered to pull the car around to the door, saving Joe-who had insisted on accompanying them as often as business would allow-a good soaking. The redhead's mad dash to the parking lot gave Vanya the opening she needed to speak with the Scot and, surprisingly, it was Duncan who unknowingly opened the door for her request.

"You're not getting very far with him, are you? I know how stubborn Richie can be. Maybe if I talked to him—"

"Thank you, Duncan, but he might take umbrage at that. I do have a request, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. Do you have a photo of Tessa? It might help me if I could picture her more clearly," she continued, before he could question her. "From the little I've gotten out of Richie, I would think the woman was just short of being a saint."

Duncan laughed easily at that. "She was no saint, but it's easy to forget her little foibles; she was a special lady," he said, sobering visibly. "Yes, sure, I have dozens of pictures of her. I'll go through them tonight."

Vanya took his right hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Thank you. It could help immeasurably."

"I hope so," Joe added, having heard at least part of their conversation. "Richie's been trying to convince himself that he's not having any more trouble sleeping."

"Is that true?" Vanya returned, startled. If so, it would be the first she'd heard of it.

Joe snorted, glancing sideways at the Highlander.

"No, it's not," Duncan answered for him. "He's still sleepwalking, but I've caught up to him before he's managed to hurt himself. I've been able to coax him back to the couch without waking him, but he knows it's still happening; I've been very upfront with him about it."

"Denial," Vanya stated, nodding. "It's quite common, but I had hoped we'd moved past that. Funny, he hasn't attempted to convince me that he's on the road to improvement," she mused aloud.

"Maybe because he figures you'd be able to see through him. Hell, a blind man could see those dark circles under his eyes. He may be getting more sleep than he did when he was on his own, but it's not enough for someone who insists on being on the go all the time. I've threatened to sit on him if he didn't settle down, and I know MacLeod has had to put a tight rein on him for his own good."

"I'm surprised he hasn't rebelled." Vanya had to fight a smile at the thought of the two older men chasing after the younger.

"He throws me dark looks and mutters a lot," Duncan informed her, with a wry smile of his own, "but he hasn't pushed it. Richie's not a fool, he knows we're just looking out for him. He may not like it, but he accepts it."

The sound of a horn honking brought the conversation to an abrupt close.

"That's him now. Later, doc." The Watcher turned away with a wave.

"Bye, Joe." She faced Duncan once more. "You will remember the photo?"

"I'll find one tonight," he promised. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll be here."

Duncan turned up the collar of his trenchcoat and followed Joe out into the deluge, letting the door swing shut behind him with a muffled whoosh.

When they arrived at Korsikov's office the next day Duncan looked nearly as tired as his young student. Vanya surmised that it had been a rough night for both Immortals, and the Scot confirmed it.

"Richie was pretty 'active' last night," he told her, giving his reluctant roommate a meaningful glance and a small smile meant to soften the words.

"Sleepwalking?" she asked, though she was sure she knew the answer.

Duncan nodded, carding the fingers on one hand through his hair. "He seemed determined to leave the loft. Wanted a night out on the town, I guess," he added, playfully thumping Richie on the back of the head.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Richie grumbled good-naturedly, swatting the hand away. "It wasn't a lot of fun waking up with one arm tied to the coffee table."

"It was either that or lock you in the bathroom. Be grateful for small favors."

"I am, Mac," Richie replied, a despondent note suddenly appearing in his voice.

"Well, we're all set for this session," Vanya said, sensing that a change of topic would be appreciated. "Richie, why don't you go on into the office and get comfortable? I'll be there in a minute."

The redhead glanced from Korsikov to MacLeod, tempted to hold his ground, then shrugged, surrendering the day. He moved sluggishly across the reception area toward the open office door.

"I'm worried about him," Duncan confided, eyes following the retreating figure. "Every day a little of the fight goes out of him. He's giving up."

"We won't let him," Vanya assured him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "You can't go on like this yourself. Have you thought about calling for reinforcements?"

"You mean ask some mutual friends to help guard him? I've considered it, but I don't want to spook him. Richie thinks this is something to be ashamed of, and if I introduce someone else into it he may bolt. I can't risk that."

"Could Joe help watch him at night?"

Duncan started at her choice of terms and answered cautiously, choosing his words with care. He felt duty-bound to conceal Joe's extra-curricular activities as a Watcher, but how to explain that the bar-owner couldn't spend the night at the loft without tipping off *Richie's* Watcher to his relationship with the Immortals within? "Joe does what he can, but he's not a young man. He's already pulling double-duty between running his business and spending time at the dojo every day. He would be here now if a delivery hadn't come in late."

"It sounds as if you've given this some thought so I'll leave it in your capable hands. I am curious, though. You own a dojo and practice different forms of martial arts. How do you handle the risk of Richie getting his hands on something lethal?"

Duncan nodded, knowing the subject would come up sooner or later. "I've locked up all the swords in the place-other than my katana, and I don't have to worry about him getting hold of that."

"What about *his* sword?"

"I keep it with me at night and give it back to him in the morning. It's not an ideal solution but it gives us both a little peace of mind. I wouldn't sleep at all if I knew he still had it." 

"I see. Well, it seems to be working so far. Oh, yes, were you able to find a photograph for me?"

"I was up the better part of the night so I had plenty of time to go through them," he replied, pulling a 4x6 photo from his inner coat pocket. He held it out to her. "Will this work?"

Vanya accepted the picture, turning it over to reveal three smiling faces. Two were familiar to her-Duncan and a slightly younger Richie-one was not. "This is Tessa?" she asked, struck by the natural beauty of the woman standing between the two Immortals. Eyes the color of clearest blue topaz, hair pulled back into a ponytail, little, damp wisps hanging loosely about a rosy-cheeked, sun-kissed complexion. It was difficult to decide whose smile was brightest of the three.

"Yes, that's Tessa."

"She's lovely," Vanya murmured, feeling a connection to the young woman whose image smiled back at her. She had been that young once, that contented, immune to life's cruelties, ignorant of war, the atrocities committed in the name of power, The Game. She almost envied this woman her life, however short it had been. She had known great love, this Tessa. Duncan's love, Richie's...how many others? Truly this was not a person to mourn. Vanya thought she might trade places with Tessa herself, without regrets.

She looked up to find Duncan studying her, and smiled, damning herself for a sentimental fool. "Sorry. Yes, this will be fine," she assured him, slipping back into physician-mode with hardly a ripple. "I meant to tell you, I have an extensive library just across the hall. Feel free to help yourself to something more interesting than Good Housekeeping."

"Let me guess, you have all the works of Ibsen," Duncan quipped.

"A few, though he was a bit of a poop in person." She giggled at her little faux-pas and the look on the Scot's face. "I think I'd better join Richie before I discredit myself entirely."

She heard a chuckle rise behind her as she crossed the foyer and entered her office. She closed the door behind her and took the chair adjacent to the couch where her patient sat drumming the fingers of one hand on his pants leg.

"Still uncomfortable here?" she asked, indicating the nervous gesture.

"No,"he laughed, stilling the motion, "I just have a hard time sitting still sometimes. Drives Mac crazy." He gave her a devilish smile that made her wonder just what fiendish delight he took in driving his teacher round the bend from time to time.

"Did it drive Tessa crazy too?"

"Oh, yeah. I can remember her threatening to put glue on my chair at mealtimes. She said it made her tired just to watch me bounce back and forth."

"It sounds as if she knew you pretty well."

"Yeah. Yeah, she did," Richie admitted, his tone wistful. "Better than anybody, I guess."

"Better than Duncan?"

"Yeah. Tessa was mortal. She remembered what it was like to be young. With Mac, well, he's been around for over four hundred years. I think sometimes he forgets."

"That's understandable."

"Yeah," Richie concurred, eyes downcast.

"Tessa sounds like a very understanding person." She raised the photograph so that it was in clear sight. "Lovely, as well."

"What's that?" Richie asked, leaning forward.

Vanya handed it over and watched the redhead's face transform in front of her.

"I didn't know Mac still had this," he murmured, gazing down at the smiling faces, a smile slowly lighting his own face as a memory surfaced.

"Tell me about it."

He laughed, captivating the other Immortal, his hands holding the picture lovingly. "Mac was in one of his 'back-to-nature' moods and dragged us out to the cabin for a week," he related. "After three days of getting up with the sun, chopping wood, and doing KP duty, I was ready to stage a coup."

Vanya giggled at the mental picture of a younger, teenage Richie attempting such a feat.

"I guess Tessa knew what I was thinking-she was good at that- and she talked us into picnicking at this spot near the water. Mac was still playing George of the Jungle, and I was sulking a little," he admitted. "I'm a city kid, you know? The woods always made me nervous. Anyway, Tessa picks up the easel she had me pack out there so she could do some sketching. She turned a little too fast and it clocked Mac hard-smacked him right on the back of the head and knocked him into the river. It was hysterical," he laughed, remembering. "Mac got up sputtering and spitting out a mouthful of water and I was laughing so hard I fell off the log I was sitting on. "I guess he didn't think it was so funny because he stomped back up the bank, and grabbed me before I could even get my legs moving. Next thing I know I'm sailing through the air. Let me tell you, it may have been a warm day for October but that water was freezing." 

This little aside had Vanya laughing herself.

"So now I'm coughing up a lung and Tessa's laughing her ass off. I looked at Mac and he looked at me and we both grabbed one of her arms and dragged her in too. We were all laughing then." He stroked the photo lovingly. "That's when Tessa got the camera and set it up to take the picture. I guess you noticed we were drenched. You know, sometimes I think she knocked Mac into the river on purpose, just to get something started." His smile dimmed abruptly. "She always knew what to do. She was a real class act."

Vanya had listened to his animated chatter with a smile tempered by sadness for what he had lost. She leaned in now until she was directly in his line of vision. "I'd like to know more about Tessa," she announced, finally seeing the opening she needed.

"You want to know about T...Tessa," he replied in an uncharacteristic stutter. "Why?"

"Why not?" Vanya countered.

"No reason, I guess. I don't see much point in it, though. I mean, she's..."

"Dead," Vanya supplied, noting the barely discernible wince the word invoked in her patient.

"Yeah." The word was clipped, cold, the features that had been so full of life a moment ago, shadowed. "I already told you about her."

"Yes, and I'd like to go back to an earlier discussion, if you don't mind?"

Richie shrugged and shifted back against the cushions with exaggerated nonchalance. "Sure, why not?"

"Good. Why don't you tell me about what happened that last day? The day you...entered your immortality," she said tactfully. "Start at the beginning and take your time; there's no rush."

Richie took a deep breath and released it, hands rubbing his jeans-clad legs, trying to generate some heat in his suddenly-numb fingers. "The beginning...okay...the beginning. We were back from France and setting up the antique store so we could reopen. Mac had finally asked Tess to marry him and I was going to be the best man." A smile lit his face, but it was short-lived. "We were all drinking champagne and joking around." He frowned then, teeth worrying his lower lip. "Everything went sour after that. Mac ran off after some guy who was skulking around the place and Tessa and I stayed behind, fixing things up. Then this big guy came in. I thought he was a customer so I walked right up to him like some stupid kid." He was scowling fiercely as he pictured the scene in his mind's eye. 

"It only took him a second to take me out with a taser. It felt like someone shoved my head into a light socket. Next thing I know I'm on the floor and Mac is asking me where Tessa is. She was gone...*he* took her. While I was lying there, he just took her. He wanted to use her as bait to get to Mac," he explained, glancing up at Korsikov for the first time since starting his narrative. "It was his MO-using loved ones to draw Immortals into an area where he had the upper hand, then killing them, just for the hell of it. I mean, he wasn't immortal himself, he just had a grudge against us, I guess." Richie skirted around the subject of rogue Watchers, unsure whether she knew of the organization or not. "Bad timing again-Mac was out checking on some leads when the creep called the store the next day."

"He called your home?"

"Yeah. A lot of nerve, huh? Anyway, I took the call and he told me where I could find him. It was Mac he wanted, but he was already gone, so, like an idiot, I took off over there on my bike...my motorcycle." He looked over at her expecting to see condemnation, surprised to see only acceptance. "Aren't you going to tell me how stupid that was? How I should have waited for Mac to come back?"

"No. Should I? It seems you've already gone over that ground yourself."

He snorted with more than a little self-loathing. "Yeah, a million times. So, Richie Ryan-hero of the day, goes sneaking up to the house, only Mac's already there, lurking in the bushes; seems one of his leads paid off. He told me to stay put while he went inside to scope out the place." He shot Korsikov a guilty look. "I, um, I didn't stay put."

"I guessed as much."

"I'm an open book, right? So, next thing I know somebody clobbers me and I wake up in a closet. I guess he didn't expect me to come around so soon, but I've got a hard head," he said, with a harsh laugh. "When I found Mac, Tessa was with him and the other dude was dead."

"I see."

"Things got really weird after that. Surreal, Tessa would have said. I mean, Mac didn't yell at me for coming inside; I didn't even hug Tessa. Then Mac said to take Tessa home, that he wanted to look through the psycho's stuff. What kind of sense did that make? He'd been worried about Tess ever since she disappeared, but he wasn't coming home with us? It was like a badly written script."

"You felt like someone else was controlling your actions?" Vanya asked, leaning forward in her chair, her interest piqued.

"Maybe. Or maybe it was just bad karma. Like it was all meant to happen and there wasn't anything we could do to change it. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe I just want someone else to blame," he muttered.

"Someone else? Who do you blame now?"

"She shouldn't have been alone," was the cryptic reply.

"Tessa? But she wasn't alone, she was with you, wasn't she?"

He gave a self-contemptuous snort. "Yeah, well, it adds up to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"Does it? Do you blame Duncan for staying behind?"

"Mac?" Richie asked, genuinely surprised. "It wasn't *Mac's* fault we were shot." He started then, as though dismayed at what he had said, and threw her an anxious glance. "Look, why don't we take a break or something?" His case of the fidgets was back with a vengeance.

"Not just yet," she said firmly, seeing a glimmer of hope, an opportunity to push through the wall Richie had built around himself over the last few years. "Where exactly were you both shot?"

Richie closed his eyes a moment then opened them again, revealing a fleeting glimpse of deep sorrow. "By the car. Tessa kept looking back at the house like she felt something or heard something. I still don't know what it was. Then this guy came out of nowhere, waving a gun around, yelling for the keys to the car, Tessa's purse —only she didn't have a purse. That pissed him off, he thought she was lying-he just went ballistic and started firing." The young Immortal's mouth thinned out into a hard line. "She didn't deserve to die like that, not Tessa."

"No, I don't suppose she did," Vanya commiserated.

"I was supposed to take care of her," he said in a small voice.

"Why were you supposed to take care of her, Richie? You were barely nineteen; I believe Tessa was thirty-six. Shouldn't she have been taking care of you?"

"You don't understand," Richie persisted, shaking his head.

"Explain it to me. What don't I understand?"

The young Immortal opened his mouth and closed it again. He finally just shook his head and repeated helplessly, "I should have protected her."

"Why? Was she fragile...or slow-witted?"

"Tessa? No, of course not—"

"Well then, was she injured in some way?"

"No, but—"

"Then why was it your duty to protect her?"

"Mac told me to take her home. I was supposed to take her home."

"And you weren't on your way to the car to do just that when you were assaulted?"

"Yes, we were, but—"

"Maybe I don't have my facts straight. It says here that your assailant had a gun and you were unarmed. Is that incorrect? Were you armed?"

"No, I don't like guns. I never carried one, even when I was on the streets. That's a good way to get yourself shot." He laughed humorlessly at the irony of that.

"All right, let's approach this differently. After you revived, what happened?"

Richie swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the vision that rose unbidden. "It was so dark, I was wrapped in darkness, and then it started getting lighter. My lungs felt like they were gonna burst, like I'd been underwater a long time."

He sensed rather than saw Vanya nod at this, as if the experience were quite familiar to her. 

"My eyes flew open then but my heart was pounding so loud, I couldn't think for a minute. Everything came back to me all at once and I sat up and saw the blood on my shirt. I turned my head...and Mac...Mac was holding Tessa. Oh, God, her eyes were open... She had blue eyes, did you know that? These sky-blue eyes that could see right through to your soul."

"Mac was holding Tessa," Vanya prompted, pulling him back to his narrative.

"Yeah. He...uh, he told me I was Immortal and Tessa...wasn't. Just like that, and it was all over. Everything was..." Richie seemed to drift off for a moment before continuing. "I wanted to hold her like he was doing. I wanted to tell her I loved her and how sorry I was, but there were sirens and Mac told me to take my bike and go; I wouldn't have been able to explain the blood or the bullet holes in my shirt."

"Where did you go then?"

"Back to the apartment. I didn't know where else to go, so I went...home. Except it wasn't anymore, not really. I remember thinking that it should feel different, because Tessa wasn't ever coming back. Something should be different. *I* was different. The *world* was different, but the apartment was just the same. Tessa's sketches were still on the wall, her clothes were still in the closet; I could still smell her perfume. I don't know how long I stood in their room; I think I zoned out for a while. I realized that the cops might be by after they finished with... Anyway, I went to take a shower and get changed. It's funny, I remember I threw my clothes on the floor; I always threw my clothes on the floor, only, this time, I went back and picked them up because Tessa didn't like it when I left them in a pile like that. Tessa wasn't there, but it seemed really important, you know?" 

His voice failed him finally and he sat there motionless, staring at nothing, wearing an expression that made Vanya's heart ache for him.

When he spoke again, his voice faltered. 

"That scene...it keeps replaying in my head over and over...the gun, the shots, Tessa's scream. It's like it's all in slow motion and if I just reached out, I could have..." 

Richie's hand was outstretched, his gaze locked on a vision from another time, another place. Vanya shook off the feeling of ghosts hovering in the room and refocused on her patient. "Richie, the fact is that it *didn't* happen in slow motion. From what you've said, your assailant didn't give a warning that he was going to fire. If he had, chances are both you and Tessa would have been shot in the side or back as you tried to turn away from him. It's a knee-jerk reaction to try to run from violence."

"I should have seen it coming. I lived on the streets for a while. Something should have told me he was going to shoot."

"You're an Immortal, Richie, not a psychic."

"She should have been the Immortal."

"Then you would have died," Vanya reasoned. "I don't think that's a solution."

"Everybody would have been better off."

Korsikov frowned deeply, seeing where this was leading. If this was the road he was on, it was a very dangerous one. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" Richie persisted. "Don't you understand? Tessa was beautiful and funny and talented and...and, she had her whole life in front of her."

"And you didn't?"

"She was everything. Everything!" he shouted, jumping to his feet without warning, startling her back against her chair. "She should have lived forever. I was supposed to die young, don't you see that?! It should have been me!" He came back to himself then, suddenly aware of both his clenched fists and Korsikov's intent gaze. A nearly indiscernible shudder ran through him and he went stock-still, blinking rapidly. He ran his fists up his pants legs, pushing them flat, fingers splayed, then ran both hands through his hair. 

He took a deep breath, and Vanya watched the wall drop back into place again, his emotions once more closed off behind it. 

Richie shook his head as if to clear it and dropped back down onto the couch. "It should have been me," he repeated softly.

"So you think you should have died in her place?"

Richie didn't answer, his silence saying what he couldn't.

"What about Duncan? How do you think he'd feel about that?"

"He loved her. He still loves her," Richie said in a small voice. "It was really hard on him, losing her like that."

"Hard on *him*," she said meaningfully.

"Yeah."

"And how did *he* deal with it?"

"Mac got pretty quiet, barely said anything. I tried to tease him out of it as much as I could. You know, try to get him to smile, or push him until he finally sat down and ate something."

"And how did *you* deal with it?"

"Me? I was kind of busy, helping Mac move into the dojo and selling the apartment and store and all. And I had to find a place to stay," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"You sold the apartment where you all had lived?" Vanya asked, brows knitted together.

"Yeah. Mac asked me to. I don't think he could have handled it then."

"But *you* could handle it. A teenager?"

"Somebody had to," Richie said matter-of-factly. "Mac was depending on me."

"And you didn't want to let him down. I understand," Vanya concurred, understanding more than she let on. "You're a good friend, Richie."

"Yeah...right." Though the words were in agreement, the tone was anything but.

"You disagree?"

"I didn't say that," the young Immortal hedged.

"No, you didn't, exactly." She watched as a mutinous expression settled over his face and gave an inward sigh. Stubborn and proud. Why did some young men wear bravado like a coat of arms? She knew the answer to that as soon as she thought it. To protect themselves from the pain of feeling, *really* feeling. When you loved, you lost-it was inevitable. No one knew that better than Immortals. To have learned that lesson so early in life was not something to be envied, that she knew first hand.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn from her patient and she had to smile as he fisted his eyes, reminding her again how terribly young he was, even by mortal standards. "Am I losing you?" she asked, her amusement plain.

"Sorry about that," he said, chagrined. "I seem to lose steam a couple hours after lunch. Mac's been trying to get me to take a nap in the afternoon," he divulged, nose wrinkling distastefully at the concept.

"A wise idea," she returned, still smiling.

"Yeah, I should have known you'd like it." He was grinning at her now, a grin that was a mirror to his other side, the lighter, more youthful side full of practical jokes, quick laughter and endless possibilities.

Vanya closed the notebook in her hands, realizing she hadn't made a single entry. "I suppose I *have* kept you over today. It must be your fascinating repartee."

Richie looked askance at her, eyebrows arched comically. "Uh, doc, have you ever considered seeing a psychiatrist?" 

She laughed at that, slapping him on the knee as she rose. "I've considered it once or twice. Think you could recommend someone?"

"Weeeell," he said, climbing to his feet, "I do know this one lady- smart, pretty, killer smile. I could probably get you in-I have some pull."

"Do you really?" she laughed, linking her arm through his as they made for the door. "You, sir, are a flirt."

"Who, me?" he quipped with a look of pure innocence.

They were both laughing as they opened the door into the foyer and found two surprised faces looking back at them from the waiting area.

"Hey, Joe, when did you get here?" Richie asked, approaching the Watcher with Vanya now a step behind.

"Damn delivery guy never showed up, so me and a couple of the boys headed over to the warehouse to pick up the stuff ourselves. I had them drop me off here on the way back."

"You didn't need to do that, Joe."

The bar owner opened his mouth, only to have Richie cut him off.

"I know, I know, you wanted to," he quoted, grin still firmly in place. 

Joe chuckled. "You're finally catching on, kiddo."

Vanya and Duncan had been playing a silent game of eye communications during this easy banter, but now the Scot turned his attention to his protege. "Richie, how would you like to pull the car around?" the Scot suggested.

The redhead looked closely from one Immortal to the other and smirked. "I can take a hint. You guys want to talk about me. Why don't you just say 'Richie get lost so we can yap about you'?"

"Richie, get lost so we can yap about you," Duncan repeated amiably, smiling as the young man snorted.

"See the abuse I have to take?" he said with a long-suffering sigh. "Don't worry, I'll take my time," he assured them, waiting for Duncan to toss him the keys before loping out.

"He looks a little better," Joe observed.

"Looks can be deceiving," Vanya pointed out.

"Oh?"

She gestured toward the couch they had just vacated. "Just to make sure there's no confusion on this, Richie gave me his permission to discuss any aspects of his case with either of you. He hasn't retracted that permission yet, but if he should..."

"We understand, Doc," Joe assured her, taking the seat she indicated, suppressing a sigh of relief as the pressure eased on his prostheses.

"I wouldn't be talking to you now, but I was hoping you could shine some light on a few areas for me, Duncan," she said, waiting for the Scot to take the seat across from her before continuing. "Richie was pretty agitated this afternoon. I think we may have finally turned a corner in his treatment."

"Did the picture of Tessa play a part in it?"

"It was instrumental, Duncan, thank you." She settled back on the couch and addressed them both. "Up to this point Richie has been making a concerted effort to keep his emotions reined in, at least around me. That photo brought his defenses down, temporarily at any rate."

Joe rubbed at one sideburn distractedly and leaned forward in his seat. "Why would a picture bring the kid around?" 

"Memories, Joe. Our lives are made up of them. Good, bad, they make us who we are, and...sometimes...they haunt us." Her voice sounded hollow, her gaze locked on a point beyond Duncan's left shoulder. She shook her head after a moment of silence, and gave the pair a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. Sleepless nights seem to be catching." She saw understanding in Duncan's face and she was grateful for it. All Immortals, it seemed, were haunted by memories.

"What kind of break-through did you have?" he asked at last.

"A very important one, I think. He spoke of Tessa at length, running the gauntlet of emotions from happiness to anger. It's only a feeling at this point, but I don't believe he's dealt with his feelings about losing her yet. He seems to be almost afraid to deal with them."

"Richie? Afraid?" Joe repeated, giving a caustic snort. "That kid isn't afraid of anything. He runs headlong into trouble like it was a romp in the park."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "There may be reasons behind that, as well. But on the subject of Tessa's last night, Richie discussed what happened up to the shooting, then skipped to finding an apartment and selling the store, as if one led to the other, with nothing in between. Duncan, do you recall what you did in the days afterwards?" She pinned him in place with a look.

"Just worked at getting through each day. I went through some of Tessa's things and wandered around the apartment in a daze. I spoke with her family in France and arranged for the...body to be transported there. Her parents wanted her nearby." He swallowed heavily before continuing his recitation. "Richie helped me move into the loft and handled a few legal matters for me. That's about it."

"And you wept," Vanya added.

"Yes." 

"Did you ever see Richie cry for Tessa, for himself?"

"I've never seen Richie cry, period," Duncan acknowledged, startled at the realization.

"Never?"

"No. From something she told me I'm pretty sure he cried in front of Tessa, at least once, but never in front of me."

"That's not uncommon among males. Maybe he felt he couldn't cry in front of you."

"Maybe," Duncan droned, but he didn't look happy about it.

"Hmm. From what little Richie told me, it seems while you were mourning Tessa's death, he was focusing on you and the sale of the store and finding a place to live. It didn't sound as if he dealt with his own grief at all. Add to that the guilt he's apparently been carrying around for two years, and you could have a highly volatile time bomb on your hands."

"What guilt?" Duncan asked, perplexed. "What would Richie have to feel guilty about?"

"Living. It's called survivor's guilt. It's quite common among survivors of plane crashes or other disasters."

"I saw some of that after Nam," Joe admitted, looking grim.

"Yes. Survivors feel an almost overwhelming guilt because they lived, when friends and loved ones didn't. Did Richie give some indication that he was troubled after the robbery and the subsequent deaths? When you talked about it afterwards, was he open about his feelings?"

"We...we didn't talk about it," Duncan admitted ruefully. "He seemed to be handling it all right."

Vanya grew quiet at that, studying the Immortal across from her. "Do you think Richie feels indebted to you?"

The Scot ducked his head, staring at the floor tiles a moment, then met her gaze squarely. "Probably. I felt indebted to my teacher. I suppose it's natural."

"Yes, I suppose it is, though I'm speaking of the time before he was thrust into immortality. Do you think he felt the same indebtedness then?"

"Tessa and I took him off the street when he was just shy of his eighteenth birthday. I may have had a hidden agenda at first- keeping an eye on a pre-Immortal-but he didn't know that. That didn't last, anyway. After a month or two, Richie was like family- Tessa thought so, too-but, yes, I would say he did feel like he owed me something. He was usually pretty eager to please." It was his turn to study her. "You think all of this is tied into his sleepwalking somehow?"

"I think it explains why he put on a happy face after losing her, instead of screaming to the heavens at the injustice of it all. You needed him. For whatever reason, he was your rock, your anchor in those weeks after Tessa's death. Does it have something to do with his sleepwalking and suicide attempts? That's yet to be seen." 

A car horn sounded out front to the tune of Shave and a Haircut, effectively ending their discussion.

"Somebody's getting impatient," Joe said, chuckling as he snatched up his cane, using it as leverage to push himself to his feet.

"I've kept you longer than I intended," Vanya apologized, smiling as Duncan waited for her to get to her feet before he did the same. "I have a meeting tomorrow I can't cancel," she explained, walking with them to the door. "Do you think you could bring Richie by an hour later than usual?"

"That shouldn't be a problem. I'll ask one of our regulars if he can man the dojo for us. If not, I'll just shut the place up for the afternoon."

"You could have him come alone," she pointed out.

"No. Richie's my student, and my friend. I want to be here."

Her smile was radiant. "At the risk of repeating myself, Richie is a lucky young man." She included Joe in her praise, then waved them through the door before turning back to her office, her own pain at outliving so many loved ones a dull ache within her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Right on time, as usual, I see," Vanya said brightly, greeting Richie and Duncan in the lobby, as had become her custom.

"Don't look at me," Richie grumbled. "Mac can't stand to be late. In case you haven't noticed, anal's his middle name."

The Highlander scowled in his direction but, as this was true for the most part, decided to hold his tongue.

"Hmm," Vanya murmured, giving the pair the once-over, noting with a dissatisfied sigh that both Immortals were sporting dark circles under their eyes. "You two don't appear to have gotten much sleep again last night."

"Good guess," Richie muttered darkly, toeing the carpet with one foot, eyes refusing to meet hers.

Duncan was even less communicative, settling for a bass grunt of agreement, his stance rigid and unyielding.

"Is there something I should know?" she asked, as neither man seemed inclined to volunteer the information.

"No, nothing," Richie replied before the man at his side could even open his mouth.

Duncan settled into a scowl at that, lips compressed into a thin line, looking for all the world as if he would like to do the younger Immortal a violence, or at least shake him till his teeth rattled.

"In that case, shall we?" Vanya offered, throwing her left arm wide to encompass the entry to her office, following along behind Richie as he reluctantly trudged ahead.

She cast an understanding smile in Duncan's direction before closing the door, then turned to see her young charge drop down onto the couch. Walking around to face him, she was both amused and curious as the redhead folded his arms across his chest in a decidedly defiant stance and took on an aspect that could only be called petulant.

"Do you feel like discussing what's going on between you and Duncan today?" she asked patiently, settling on the edge of her chair.

"No," was the sullen reply.

"All right."

Richie sighed heavily, giving her the barest of grins. "Sorry. I guess I'm not very good company right now."

"It's not a prerequisite for the position of patient," she quipped, trying to draw a real smile out of him. Her attempt fell short. "Hmm, mad at the world, or someone in particular?"

"It's Mac. It's not bad enough that he has to follow me everywhere I go, now he wants to 'talk'."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"This is Mac we're talking about here. You know, Mister Stoic himself? Getting him to talk about things is usually like pulling teeth. Then last night he started dogging me, asking me how I felt? Was there anything I wanted to talk about? Telling me it was all right to cry if I felt like it. I mean come ooooon, what is *that* all about?"

Vanya suppressed a smile. It seemed the Scot had taken their discussion about Richie and his feelings to heart. Perhaps too much so, if the redhead's reaction was any indication. Then again, maybe Duncan had the right idea. Perhaps it was time to push a bit harder.

"And he totally overreacted to a bad dream I had last night," Richie continued, oblivious to Korsikov's musings. "I've had it plenty of times before, but you'd think it was headline news the way he was acting."

"It must have been pretty frightening if it woke you both."

"It was nothing...a nightmare. It's not worth making a big deal over."

"I'd like to judge that for myself, Richie," she scolded, then softened her tone. "All right?"

"Yeah, okay," he capitulated, eyeing this new side of Vanya warily.

"Good." She abandoned her chair to sit beside him on the couch. "What do you remember?"

He took a deep breath and blew it out, hesitant to reenter this particular field of dreams. "It's dark...night."

"Go on," she urged when he hesitated.

Richie raised a hand to his head, rubbing at one temple distractedly. "I'm searching for something, but I can't find it. It's black as pitch, I can barely see more than a few steps in front of me, but I know I don't have much time. I have to find it."

"Find what? Do you know?"

He shook his head, trying to envision it. "It's never clear. There's just this sense of urgency, and I know I have to hurry. I start running and...there's a light, so I run toward it." His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling as if he were reliving the events. "I'm almost there when somebody screams...a woman. It seems to go on and on and I cover my ears but I can still hear it. That's when I see them."

"Who, Richie? Who do you see?"

"Mac...and Tessa. He's...holding her and her eyes are open," he gasped out, his breathing sounding harsh and loud in the closed room. "He looks up and sees me standing there, and he doesn't say anything, he just...*points* at me. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out and...I start backing away.. .and then...I realize...she's looking at me, too...and...she knows."

Vanya was caught between wanting to hold him and chase the demons away, and needing to push him further; she steeled herself against the emotional fallout and chose the latter. "What does she know, Richie?"

The young Immortal grimaced, still in thrall to the mental images. "No," he rasped, shaking his head, hands locked on the couch cushions to either side of him in a white-knuckled grip.

"What does she know, Richie?" Vanya repeated, not giving him a chance to gather his wits, determined to break through before the wall fell back into place. "What does Tessa know!?"

"I can't," he cried, eyes pleading with hers for understanding.

"Yes, you can," she insisted, overriding her maternal instincts, going for blood now.

His mouth opened and closed and a strangled sound came out.

"Say it!"

"It's...my...f-fault," he stammered, eyes impossibly blue in an otherwise colorless face. "Oh, God, she knows...it's my fault. I stood there and watched him shoot her. I could have stopped him!"

"How, Richie? How could you have stopped a man with a gun?"

"I'm immortal, I could have..."

"No, Richie. You were an unarmed, frightened teenager on a dark street at night against a man with a gun. You didn't know you were an Immortal, and if you had—"

"No, I—"

"And if you had known," she continued, "if you had had time to jump in front of her-then what?" She answered before Richie had the chance. "Then he would have shot you first, and her second, and it wouldn't have made any difference at all."

"You don't know that. I could've saved her."

She reached out to him only to have him jump away, leaping to his feet to avoid her touch, overturning her vacated chair in his haste. It slammed against the wall-mounted bookcase, sending several tomes thudding to the floor.

"No! No, you don't understand!" He continued moving away, oblivious to the debris, nearly tripping over it as he backed up against the desk. "A hundred Richie Ryans aren't worth one Tessa Noel! Even if I didn't know I was immortal, I should have stopped him. Done...something." He threw his arms wide in a pose of helplessness. "Something."

"You should have attacked him? Committed suicide on the chance that this stranger might shoot, might just *possibly* kill her? Don't you see, Richie?" she tried desperately. "If we're going to play 'what ifs' then it could have been that very move that set him off. How could you have known?" She rose from her seat on the couch, moving slowly, trying to unobtrusively put herself between him and the newly-remounted scimitar.

"I blew up at Mac the day he started my training, accused him of feeling guilty over Tessa, like it was his fault. But we both knew it wasn't true. We both knew who was really to blame," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "We both knew who should have died that night."

Both Immortals started when a third, angry voice cut in. "What are you talking about?"

In their agitation, neither had noticed the dark form standing in the now-open doorway.

"Richie, you don't believe that," Duncan said forcefully, face a thundercloud as he strode into the room, closing the distance between himself and his student.

The redhead was disconcerted by the Scot's appearance for only a moment, his anger deserting him in the face of Duncan's.

"C'mon, Mac, you know it's true," he said in defeat, the words finally out in the open for all to hear.

"That I wished you had died in Tessa's place? No, Richie, I never felt that way." He stood an arm's length away now, regarding the young man with a mixture of concern and consternation. "Richie look at me," he ordered, waiting until the smaller Immortal complied before saying, "I never wished it had been you instead of her. How could you even think that?" Righteous indignation vied with the anger in his voice.

Richie held eye contact for a brief moment as his inner demons struggled to surface again.

Vanya watched, a silent observer mentally urging him on, as Richie fought a battle with himself. She felt bereft at his next words.

"It doesn't matter," he droned, turning away, demons subdued for the moment.

"It does matter!" Duncan raged.

He swung Richie back around by one arm...and Vanya saw a glimmer of hope.

"It does matter," Duncan repeated, standing nearly nose to nose with the younger Immortal now. "You think I would trade one life for another? That I thought so little of you that I would have wished you dead at nineteen, just to have Tessa with me?"

"No! Mac...you just don't get it!" The words were hurled at him in frustration.

"Then explain it to me," the Scot persisted. "Tell me what I don't understand."

"You want me to say it? All right! I blew it, okay! Big time! I was supposed to protect her and I screwed up! It would have been better if we'd both died that night!" he spat out, visibly shaking. 

"Don't ever say that! Do you hear me, Richie?!" Duncan shouted, grabbing the younger man by his upper arms. "I don't know what I would have done after Tessa died if you hadn't been there."

"She wouldn't have died at all if I hadn't been there!"

"Oh, so *you* kidnapped her? *You* were the one she was being used to get to? *You* left her and a mere boy on their own afterwards, just so you could satisfy your curiosity?" He shook the young Immortal with each point. "No, Richie, you weren't to blame for any of it."

"Don't you get it, Mac? You wouldn't have left her alone if I hadn't been there. You trusted me to take care of her, and I let her die!"

"You think you could have stopped it? Richie, even if you had known you were immortal you can't know that for sure. What was to stop him from shooting you to death, then turning on her? It wouldn't have changed anything. Believe me. I've gone over it a hundred times in my mind, and the results are always the same."

Duncan hung his head, closing his eyes a moment against the pain of old memories. He looked up again and gave the shoulders in his grip a firm squeeze. "Do you know how many people have been killed right in front of me? You're an Immortal, Richie, that doesn't mean you can save the world."

"I don't want to save the world," Richie cried, all the fight going out of him in a single breath. "I just wanted to save Tessa." Whatever else he might have said came out on a strangled moan as his whole body convulsed, eyes closed tight against the emotional flood that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Let it go, Rich," Duncan entreated, his voice gentle now, his strong arms all that kept the younger man from falling away from him. "She was worth crying for. Let it go."

A wail of pure anguish escaped Richie's lips as the dam burst, startling in its intensity, blinding tears pouring from his eyes. He expected Duncan to push him away in disgust, but the Highlander's arms closed around him, drawing him up against a hard chest, wrapping around his back and holding him safely within their confines.

The Scot felt tears soaking the front of his shirt, some of those tears his own. His were silent, Richie's seemed torn from him-the slight form encircled in Duncan's arms shook with great wrenching sobs that rose up from someplace deep within.

"I'm sorry, Tessa. I'm sorry."

The words were barely intelligible, but Duncan's mind echoed them, the sentiment somehow enough for now. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on the head of reddish-blond curls, holding tight as sobs continued to wrack the smaller figure, lowering them both to the carpeted floor when Richie's legs refused to hold him any longer.

"Mac, I'm sorry—"

"No, Rich," Duncan interrupted, "I'm sorry. We loved her, and she's gone. Your fault, my fault, nobody's fault. The guilt ends here."

He continued to hold Richie in his arms as the young Immortal wound down, closing his own eyes, seeing a brief, fleeting glimpse of a smiling Tessa gazing approvingly down at them. "Thank you, Love," he mouthed, before opening his eyes again to find Vanya sitting on the floor a few feet away, legs drawn up underneath her, face wet with tears of her own, lower lip trembling even as it curved into a shaky smile.

She waited until had Richie gathered his wits and pulled away from Duncan's embrace, and both men turned to her with red-rimmed eyes.

"Well done," she murmured, sniffling softly. "Well done."

It was several minutes before Richie was able to pull himself to his feet and shuffle over to the couch. He looked like ten miles of bad road, but he had passed a milestone. Now the healing could begin.

Duncan looked nearly as haggard, but with typical Scots stubbornness squared his shoulders and stoically took the seat next to his subdued protege. 

Vanya regarded them both fondly, cataloguing their similarities. Warm-hearted, too stubborn for their own good, and loyal to a fault. That last trait had brought them a lot of happiness, and a lot of pain.

She left them only long enough to prepare two cups of coffee, returning to find them still silent, looking rather like shell-shocked survivors of war.

Within seconds, Richie had his face buried in his steaming cup of black coffee, but Duncan did no more than thank her and set his own cup on the table before him. He was brooding, she knew the signs. Richie's demons were out in the open now, but Duncan apparently had a few of his own to deal with.

Richie interrupted her musings, lowering his cup and glancing uncertainly from one older Immortal to another, eyes coming to rest at last on the Highlander. "I wish..." He trailed off, then shook his head and sighed, setting his half-empty cup down on the table. "I don't know what I wish."

Duncan threw him a small smile that said he understood the feeling, and Vanya gave him what she hoped was sage advice.

"Richie, it may be a platitude, but it's true nonetheless; bad things happen to good people, things that aren't even remotely fair or just. Tessa lost her life at thirty-six, you lost your home and mortality at nineteen. I lost my family, Duncan his clan, and Joe his legs. The important thing is to grieve for what you've lost, and then go on. I have a feeling your Tessa wouldn't have wanted you to suffer what you have for her."

"No, she wouldn't have," Duncan said, breaking his silence. "She would have known something was wrong right from the start and she would have sat him down and made him talk about what was bothering him, instead of letting it fester." He gave the young Immortal beside him an inscrutable look. "I didn't even see it."

"In all fairness, Duncan, there may not have been anything *to* see. We know now that Richie suppressed his feelings, a bit too well as it turns out."

"But Richie's never been very good at lying to me," the Scot argued, more with himself than her, noting the flush that rose on the young Immortal's face at this. "I should have seen it."

"Richie was lying to himself, not you. And, Duncan, remember: you were having an emotional crisis of your own. You needed someone to lean on, someone who understood your pain."

"You're saying I used him to get through it." Duncan's shame at the possibility was there for all to see.

"No, I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying Richie offered his friendship, his strength, at a time when you needed it, and you accepted. That doesn't make you selfish, it makes you human."

"Tessa wouldn't want you to suffer either, Mac," Richie cut in. "What happened to her...what happened to us," he corrected himself, "wasn't your fault." He gave the pair a sheepish half-grin. "I, um, I guess maybe it wasn't mine, either." The words didn't come easily.

Vanya smiled approvingly at what she perceived as another breakthrough. Duncan was more demonstrative, reaching over and giving Richie's right shoulder a firm squeeze. He didn't release the hold until the young man smiled back at him, a little life returning to his features at the familiar gesture. 

"Now what?" Richie asked, turning to face Vanya once more. "I take it 'sayonara, see ya later' is out?"

Vanya had to laugh at his attempt at levity. "A little premature, I think. Now," she said, pausing for effect, "we take things one day at a time. I'd like to continue to see you for a while. Just once a week," she added when she saw him gearing up to protest. "You've come a long way, Richie," she admitted, leaning forward to take one of his hands in both of hers, "and I truly hope we've seen the last of your night wanderings; but, if we haven't, we need to deal with that. All of us."

Richie grinned, a little of his old self shining through. "Gotcha."

"And, Richie, keeping things bottled up inside you is never the answer. You need to talk to...*someone*." Her eyes shifted to Duncan at this; an unspoken message passed between them. "For now, go home, we'll work out the details later."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, getting to his feet, Duncan rising to stand beside him. The Scot moved toward the door and Richie went to follow, then stopped, turning back to engulf Korsikov in a hug. "Thanks," he murmured, tightening his hold fractionally before releasing her.

She smiled warmly at him, one hand coming up to cup his right cheek, thumb brushing against it. "Be well," she breathed, placing a light kiss on his other cheek. She watched them both out of sight, then dropped down on the empty couch, kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table with a sigh of pleasure, finally decompressing, a silly smile plastered to her face.

The drive back to town was a quiet one, each man preoccupied with his own thoughts.

When Duncan pulled into his regular spot behind the dojo, Richie spoke for the first time since leaving Korsikov's office.

"Guess I can grab my stuff and head back to my apartment now."

"Let's wait a few days on that, Rich, just to be sure. Besides, who's going to eat all those bags of cookies you've got stashed away in the closet?"

"Busted," the younger man laughed, climbing out of the T-bird. "I guess it *would* be better to wait a little while...just to be sure," he added, echoing Duncan's words as the Scot slid out of the driver's seat and fell into step beside him, the normality of their words and actions a comfort to them both.

"Right." Duncan gave him a small smile, which was returned easily. Old wounds were starting to heal. 

Nothing more was said until they reached the loft, where Richie immediately hit the fridge, grabbing a coke and a handful of grapes.

"Want anything, Mac?" he asked, butt hanging out of the open door.

Duncan glanced back, and smiled at the familiar picture he presented. "No, I'm fine. Don't spoil your appetite, Richie," he scolded mildly as the redhead shut the refrigerator door and snatched an apple off the counter. "I thought we could order Chinese for dinner."

"Sounds good," Richie mumbled around a mouthful. "I could eat a couple orders of Moo Goo Gai Pan all by myself right now. Man, I'm starved."

"When aren't you?"

Richie snorted and dropped down onto the couch. "You sound just like..." He trailed off.

"Like Tessa," Duncan supplied. The silence seemed to stretch out interminably, then a look of determination settled over the Highlander's face, and he turned away, moving to the large chest in the corner. He knelt, lifting the lid and delving inside. A moment later he rose again with a dark rectangular wooden box in his hands. He traveled the distance to the couch without a word and placed the box on the coffee table with great ceremony, cognizant of Richie's curious eyes upon him.

"What's that?" he asked, scrutinizing the item from his seat.

"This," Duncan said, pulling the box to the edge then taking a seat beside the other Immortal, "is something I should have shown you a long time ago."

Richie shifted to the edge of the couch at that, and watched as Duncan raised the lid. His eyes widened at the assortment of photographs inside; varying in size, they all had one thing in common-the subject.

Richie reached inside tentatively, extracting the topmost picture and holding it up before him. Tessa smiled back at him from her workshop, one cheek smudged with dirt, little wisps of hair curling around her ears, sweat beading her forehead. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

"I remember this piece," he murmured, indicating the sculpture in the picture. "I donated it to the Jules Foundation when I liquidated the shop."

"I didn't know," Duncan admitted, realizing yet again the burden he had laid on the young man. "Tessa would have liked that." 

The conviction in his voice brought a smile to Richie's face. "They promised to give it a place of honor. I...I never went by to check," he added softly.

"We'll go tomorrow," Duncan told him, waiting for Richie's nod of agreement before drawing the next photo from the container. "I meant to make an album of these. It never seemed like the right time."

"It would be like admitting she wasn't coming back," Richie said profoundly. "As long as you didn't do it..."

"You're right." He ran a finger across the image. "Maybe we can do it together."

"Sure, Mac." He picked another photo, giving it a quick once over. His laughter filled the room. "I took this one. See there? That's my thumb. I never could get the hang of that old camera of yours, it was a real relic."

"You were just too impatient," Duncan corrected, sharing in his laughter. "You wanted to be able to point and click."

"Hey, what can I say, I'm a nineties kind of guy. And Tessa couldn't master it either, Mr. 'Older is Always Better'. She got some really great shots of her feet trying to adjust the focus one day."

"Tessa could turn a lifeless lump of clay into a thing of beauty but she couldn't program a VCR, and the computer scared her to death. She was..." He searched for the right word. "...unique."

"Yeah, she was." The two stared off into space for several moments, lost in thought, then glanced at each other and smiled, both reaching for the pile of pictures at the same time.

Two Immortals-young and old, student and teacher-talked well into the night of all things Tessa. Of their short year as a 'family', her laughter, the scoldings she gave Richie in French-forgetting in her anger that he didn't understand a word—her tenacity, her quiet strength. Dinner was wolfed down between reminisces. At some point a fifty-year-old bottle of Scotch made an appearance and the pair drank a toast to memories...among other things.

They went through a plethora of pictures-laughing and crying by turns-and slowly drank themselves into oblivion.

Richie didn't feel the bottle of Scotch slip from his fingers in the wee hours of the morning, nor acknowledge its contact with the floor. He did no more than mutter softly under his breath when Duncan shifted him around to lie prone on the couch and drew a blanket over him with great care.

For the first time in nearly a month he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep free of nightmarish images.

As Duncan stepped away from the couch, his left pant leg grazed the edge of the coffee table, sending one of the photos fluttering to the floor. He retrieved it, turned it over, and smiled. Carrying it along with him, he brushed non-existent particles of dust from its glossy surface and leaned it up against a cherished volume of "Ivanhoe" on the bookshelf.

He took one more long look at the photo before turning away to his own bed.

Silence descended on the sleeping Immortals, disturbed only sporadically by the peal of a car horn, or the rumble of a distant thunderstorm passing them by. There was a change of weather in the air.

A lone photo stood vigil over the loft and its occupants; a picture of three campers in sodden clothing standing beside a crystal clear river, arms about each other's waists...smiling for all eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End


End file.
